


We Were Born To Take It Back, This Is Revelational (I'm Not Afraid, Love Is Coming Out To Play)

by personalized_radio



Series: Love In The Middle Of A Firefight [3]
Category: LeATHERMØUTH, Mindless Self Indulgence, My Chemical Romance, Pencey Prep, The Used
Genre: Alternate Universe - Killjoys, Blood and Violence, Crew as Family, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, Dissociative Identity Disorder - Vague Implications, Finding a home, Leaving Home, Loss, Loss of Crew/Team, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Sibling(s), M/M, Minor Character Death, Music Is So Important, Orphans, Psychological Trauma, Rebellion, Survival, Team as Family, This comes with all the umbrella warnings for the Killjoys 'verse - Be Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 74,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3197675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/personalized_radio/pseuds/personalized_radio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shoot me, you piece of shit!” Greaser yelled, taking another step forward, then another. “Shoot me before I take you out like the fucking  <em>monster </em> you are!”<br/>Ghoul  <em>wanted </em> to, he wanted to  <em>so bad </em> but he couldn’t get his finger to move. He couldn’t get his hand to move, his arm, his feet, nothing. He was  <em>alone </em> and all he could see was Bob being dragged away from him, his mom being ripped apart right in front of him, Chain Saw’s face the first time he saw Sensation and Loudmouth kissing, Ten Rings the second before he finally died, the look in Pencey’s eyes when they looked at his dry cheeks and sandy hands from grave digging, Dewees admitting that he was leaving, Hambone’s face when he told him Pencey was  <em>his fault </em>, Poison snapping at him, Poison’s face when Fuck Machine told him that his family was all dead, the last time he ever saw Poison, driving  <em>away </em> from him,  <em>leaving </em> him behind to go on some dangerous, possibly booby trapped journey with upwards of thirty children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Were Born To Take It Back, This Is Revelational (I'm Not Afraid, Love Is Coming Out To Play)

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic has a special place in my heart because this story is what started this whole project nearly two years in the making and that is why it is nearly twice as long as the other two. It's my baby and I loved it and hated it while I wrote it and here it is. Its unedited right now because neither I nor Maggie have the time to go over it before posting because after I post, I'm going to sleep, then I'm working on the homework I've put off all weekend for school starts up again :) Once that is done, I'll come back and fix it up a lot more!
> 
> As always, many thanks to Maggie for dealing with my shit up to and including half an hour before I (started) posted this!  
> EDIT: okay it is officially done being edited for the first time. I might go back and fix some stuff but I am not not completely embarrassed to see it posted XD sorry to all that had to read it unedited.

Frank, unlike Bob, was raised exclusively by the city so, really, when he said _turn_ Bob needed to listen to him. In Frank’s humble opinion, anyway.

“When I say turn,” He gasped, hunching over to rest his hands on his knees and catch his breathe, “I mean-”

“Turn, I know, I know,” Bob agreed, looking not nearly as affected as he should have after a run like that, “At least we got the food.”

“You’re an idiot,” Frank used Bob’s arm to pull himself up and thumped his chest until his lungs gave in and calmed down.

“You know Iero doesn’t like when you do that.” Bob pointed out, voice quiet and serene, because he was a dumb fucker with a good set of lungs that didn’t crap out on him at the worst times ever like Frank’s did.

“What she don’t know won’t hurt me,” Frank repeated for what had to have been the one hundreth time, rolled his eyes and picked up the bag he’d dropped only to let the strap fall into Bob’s open palm, “So don’t go telling her.”

“Yes, master,” Bob grunted. If Frank hadn’t been with Bob for going on two years he probably wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the teasing under the smooth tone. Luckily for both of them, because without him Bob would just be a walking-talking wall, Frank did. So he punched Bob in the arm ineffectively, because not only did he have the face of a wall, but he had the build of one, too, before they began the long trek back to where the two of them were supposed to meet his mom.

“Man,” He muttered out loud when they’d gotten far enough from the alley that he thought it was safe to talk again, “Did you see their faces?”

Bob cracked a smile, glanced down at him, “They weren’t expecting you. Who could expect a tiny ball of energy and terror in the middle of their drug deal?”

“Hey,” Frank pouted, “Like you were any better. No one expects a giant blond boy to knock them down like bowling pins.”

“You’re a bowling pin,” Bob shot back, a large hand coming down to smash Frank’s spiked up hair everywhere like the _asshole_ Bob was.

“Hey!” Frank batted at him until he pulled away and turned a fierce glare on him. He tried not to look like a fucking _kitten,_ because he was _dangerous_ , God damn it, no matter what like Bob liked to call him because of his size, “Don’t touch the hair.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bob mumbled, dropping a heavy arm across Frank’s shoulders. Frank didn’t shove him off, but only because it was beginning to get a little chilly with what looked to be night falling and Bob was a fucking furnace and not because they were getting to the part that may or may not have scared him. They went quiet again as they got closer to the chipped up white and pale gray buildings, signs that they weren’t quite in the wrong area of town, but close enough to be dangerous with obviously stolen BL goods in Bob’s arm. If Bob pulled Frank a little closer into his side, Frank didn’t protest.

They met with Iero once the whites and greys had degraded back into rotted out walls and off colored greens, when dirty faces had stopped hiding so much in the shadows - never completely out of them, out of the protection that the shadows offered, but out enough that Frank could just see their faces if he focused. He didn't focus, though, because looking at people too long was a good way to get into a fight with the wrong guys. Instead, he looked at his mom, waiting for them with her arms crossed.

“Hey,” She nodded at them, her lips twitching up in the closest thing to a smile he’d ever seen from her. It was cool that she didn’t smile or laugh much. Neither did Bob, not really, but Frank did enough of it for all three of them. Sometimes, it made him sad that they’d both lost so much that they didn’t smile anymore, though. He didn’t like thinking about it, but sometimes, the way she looked at him, at the both of them, it reminded him of the sad stories behind both members of his family. Stories he couldn’t share in because he was one of the lucky ones. The two of them were all he’d had in his life; he’d never lost his mom and he’d only had Bob since they’d joined up with the Black Parade a year and a half ago. He’d probably trade away everything he could find for the rest of his life if he could get them both to crack a smile for a few minutes, to forget about their burdens, unhunch their shoulders and look a little happier for a few minutes.

But that was an _unrealistic thought,_ like that guitar he wanted to get from that old guy a few streets over, so he threw it away and dumped the bag out in their little nest, away from prying eyes and deep in the rotted out remains of an old office building BL had abandoned years and years and years ago, “We found so much, mom!”

“Found?” She asked, her voice tinged with dry amusement.

“Stole,” Bob agreed.

“Bob!” Frank sighed explosively, “You’re the worst secret keeper _ever_.”

“Not _ever_.” Bob disagreed, smirking at Frank like the _asshole_ he was.

“You suck.” Frank finally stuck his tongue out at him before he started sorting through the supplies. There were a few bottles of water and, coolest of all, two syringes with intact needles and six small glass bottles of medicine. “They must have been transporting some meds to one of their scum friends. These could fetch a pretty penny on the market.”

“I’ll take them,” his mom agreed, pulling the items from the pile, leaving the half loaf of wrapped up bread and BL water bottles, “You guys eat. I’ll find something before I get back and we can go out tomorrow to restock some supplies.”

“Are you sure?” Frank frowned, looking at the bread, “There’s plenty for all of us.”

“I’m sure, kiddo,” She ruffled his hair, her touch somehow even rougher than Bob’s, and stood, “You two eat all of it and we can find something really good tomorrow to share.”

“Okay…” Frank picked at the white wrapping, leaving dark trails after his fingertips, “Be safe.”

“Avoid Hummingbird and Road 837,” Bob offered, “Break in last night so Dracs are swarming.”

“Thanks,” She nodded, gave Frank a _do what I say_ look and was back out of the hole on the other wall.

“Hand it over, Frankie,” Bob mumbled, leaning back against the wall and offering his palm out for the bread.

“No way,” Frank held it away, “When you do it, you always break it wrong and then I have to fight you for the bigger piece. _I’m_ doing it this time.”

“Whatever,” Bob rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched so Frank stuck his tongue out again and broke the bread. It was still a little uneven, but Bob was bigger so he got the bigger piece. That didn’t stop Frank from eating the pieces Bob threw at his head though, just to show him.

His mom hadn’t returned by the time complete darkness had fallen and Frank wanted to go looking for her but Bob vetoed him, “She’s probably eating with some friends, Frankie. Let’s go to sleep, she’ll be back when we get up.”

Frank didn’t like it, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d gone to sleep without her there and it wouldn’t be the last, so he laid down when Bob shoved the nest back into the corner and pushed and pulled at Bob until he let Frank flop all over him for warmth in the cold air. His lungs would start acting up at night if he didn’t stay warm and they’d had to trade a few of their blankets a few weeks ago when there had been a dry spell on the BL trash and prices had risen. He tried to sleep, warm in the spot he’d created, nestled under a thin blanket and Bob’s burning side and arm, tried to let the steady rise and fall of Bob’s breathing calm him into sleep. Usually, the tricked worked, but he was just too antsy to let everything go and sleep. His chest clicked once but he ignored it.

“Bob,” He mumbled, sitting up and shivering, “Bob, hey,”

“What,” Bob grunted before a large, rough palm was shoving at Frank’s face, “Go to fuckin’ sleep.”

“I can’t.” Frank muttered, “What if they followed us and they got her?”

“They didn’t follow us.” Bob mumbled, sounding a little more awake but no less grumpy, “Go to sleep.”

“But what if they _did_?” He insisted, already feeling his skin creeping like he was being watched. What if BL were surrounding them while they were resting? Hiding in the corners, using Frank’s shadows against him? What if they had his _mom_?

Bob tugged him down, gently enough that Frank went with it and struggled until he was practically buried in Bob’s chest. He could feel ribs through the thin shirt and thinner skin but Bob didn’t complain. He just wrapped his arms, strong and warm and protective, around Frank.

“I won’t let them.” Bob mumbled, “Go to sleep, Frankie. I won’t let them take my family again, so stop worrying.”

“Bob,” Frank stopped, didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Bob was like the brother he’d never had, the man of the ‘house’, the guy Frank could look up to, even if he’d never admit it out loud. Frank didn’t know the whole story, Bob wouldn’t even talk about it with him, but he knew the gist. Knowing he and his mom were all Bob had left, the new family he’d found after they’d met during one of the Black Parade meetings, it made Frank nervous that he wouldn’t be able to be there for Bob like he needed to be.

“Stop worrying,” Bob squeezed him until it hurt, “You’re like eight, you don’t have to worry about anything when you’re with me or Iero.”

“Shut up,” Frank shoved his shoulder into Bob hard, as useless as that was with his bony ass shoulder and Bob’s muscle, “I’m _twelve_. I do what I want.”

“Ooh,” Bob laughed quietly, “Big man now, huh?”

“Shut up.” Frank repeated, hiding his face. Bob did go quiet, nothing but their breathing in the silence and darkness, filled with BL dracs and everything Frank could ever fear.

Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep, not much different from any other night.

He dreamt of the Helium Wars. They’d ended before he’d been old enough to open his eyes but he’d heard enough throughout his life to gain a clear picture in his head. In his dreams, there were firefights the likes of which he’d only heard from Bob’s stories of the desert, with ray guns and grenades and bombs. His dad was there, all four of his grandparents, all of his mom and dad’s family, everyone except for he and his mom, and he couldn’t see their faces, couldn’t see anything about them but he just _knew_ that they were his family. He tried to fight with them but something was holding his arms down, pinning him while he screamed and screamed until he couldn’t scream anymore and he’d grown too tired to struggle. The dream dissolved as fast as it had appeared and he woke with a loud gasping cry, springing up from where he’d been pinned under Bob’s arm.

“Shit!” Bob’s eyes snapped open, voice raspy but alert, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I don’t-” Frank gasped out, his lungs jerking in his chest frantically. He needed air, he couldn’t get air, he couldn’t _breath_ , his hands scrambled for anything, caught Bob’s arm and gripped as tight as he could, tried to cough and suddenly couldn’t stop. His chest felt too tight, like it wasn’t working anymore, like his lungs were falling into each other behind his ribcage and nothing was coming in, he was choking on the air he couldn’t exhale, he needed to breaethe but he couldn’t, he couldn’t get past the coughing.

He vaguely heard Bob shout something and he was being moved, set up with his back to someone’s chest, his flailing arms finding purchase on Bob’s arms again and trying to see through the tears and hard, wracking coughs. His mom’s voice broke through the panic just barely, a firm “Breath, Frankie, just breathe,” and something was pressed to his lips. He heard a semi-familiar sound, air compressing and his tongue was covered in something gross but sweet and he breathed as deeply as he could, repeated each time a new sound filled his ears until it was taken away and his body went limp. His lungs took longer, but he was too weak to spasm like he had been, his body too loose with whatever his mom had forced into his system. He let Bob pull him into his embrace and closed his eyes, fell into a trance as he tried to match his breathes with Bob’s deep, slow chest movements.

“Frankie?” His mom asked, voice quiet and maybe a little scared, what felt like hours later.

“Mom,” he reached out a hand as much as he could and her rough fingers wrapped around it, pressed closer to he and Bob, who hadn’t moved from his position, cradling Frank against his chest.

“That was a really bad one, motobaby.”

“You sickly piece of shit,” Bob muttered into his hair.

“Sorry,” Frank agreed, “I’ll be better.”

“Shut up.” She and Bob said at the same time, making him grin a little. He lost it when she continued, “I’m going to go find you some more medicine. We had to use it all.”

“No, that’s for food,” He protested but Bob taped his head to shut him up again.

“Medicine,” She said firmly, “Bob and I can find something else to use for food. Your boy’s been negotiating lower prices since the pop boom here.”

“He’s not _my boy_ , mom.” Frank couldn’t help but pout, feeling like he was getting a little stronger with each word.

“Speaking of,” Bob laced his fingers through Frank’s shitty hair and Frank couldn’t help but lean back and enjoy the petting, “There’s a meeting tomorrow. Blue called it, said she’s got something she needed to talk to everyone about.”

“I wanna-”

“No.” His mom cut him off, “You’re staying here and you’re _resting_ , Frank. No arguing.”

“But-”

“What did I just say?” She raised her eyebrow and he closed his mouth with a click, glaring unhappily at his unshoed feet.

“This sucks.”

“I’ll tell you what happens.” Bob promised, digging into his scalp at just the place to make Frank melt a little bit more.

His mom tossed Bob two banged up cans of dog chow and some spoons and they set together in the tense darkness, eating until they couldn’t stomach any more of the sludge and tossing the cans away when they were empty.

She left soon after, with a promise of medicine and maybe some new materials for Frank to practice his wiring on if he behaved, and he and Bob were left alone again. The first eleven years of his life, Frank had been used to going it alone when his mom had to leave to find work or some way of supporting them. Having Bob around, it gave them both peace of mind. Frank wouldn’t be all alone if something happened and her worry for him wouldn’t burden her while she was away. Bob also meant she was away longer, but there was a little more tradables and carbons flowing into their personal piggy bank with the extra set of hands. Frank’s family, both sides, had died in the last waves of the Helium Wars, leaving his mom alone with baby-him only a few days old. She’d told him about it once, and only once because it hurt her to think about, but after that he hadn’t really been all that curious. Frank liked to know things, but only things that helped him out in the long run. He didn’t have enough room in his head for what used to be, only what was and what might be able to help him make their life better.

He and his mom hadn’t had a territory they stuck with before the Black Parade and Bob. She’d grown up a Tumbleweed, left her family for his father after their only way through the wall had been compromised, and stayed behind when he’d gone off to fight in the Helium Wars as a teenager with both her Tumbleweeds and his rebel family. Alone, young and with a baby, she’d adopted her family’s old ways and never settled, moving from one part of the city to another, back and forth and back and forth. She’d taught him this method from when he was old enough to understand and he learned the city, made her _his_ in a way that he knew most people could never make her their’s, knew her like she was permanently painted into his eyes. He’d tried teaching Bob, but Bob had a head for strategy and maths, not shadows and alleys like him, so Bob stuck to plans and he let Frank do what he needed to to get them out of sticky situations - usually.

His mom had also taught him how to pickpocket, steal, swindle his way out of anything he couldn’t handle. Everything Frank knew, his mom had given to him and his city had helped him retain.

“Frank,” She always said, usually after a session on the rent-a-ments around the city if she’d tagged along with he and Bob, or after he’d done something stupid and gotten himself fucked up, “Let nothing break you, kid. Bend with life like water. Wood, metal, even rubber, it all snaps. Water, though, water just reshapes.”

He took that to heart, possibly more than even she did, and so he lived his life like water - flowing through his world and reshaping to fit it instead of snapping under the pressure Nothing upset him, nothing made him angry. Music made him as happy as he could get, but as he got older he forgot about that because happiness got you killed in Better Living’s better tomorrow.

When his mother had been gone, on small jobs or with some John or another, and before Bob, he’d find his own entertainment. Usually it was a different job running messages across the city for a few carbons or fucking around with a temporary group of kids until a Drac broke them up or they dispersed after a game got boring. When she got home, they’d find some food, pick a place to stay for the night and eat as much as their meager earnings allowed. They were both pretty small, and the food the city gave them was used by their bodies to survive, not to grow. Luckily, at least in Battery, small was good, because it meant you could fit between the shadows.

Frank liked the shadows. He prayed to the city like his mom prayed to God, like most City born prayed to their home, and she had always come through for him. His city had given Frank and his mom a good life, compared to others. They stuck together, trusted no one until Bob, who had been enfolded into them and adopted their advice, avoided the main streets, the cameras, the Dracs and the Vixens. His mom taught him everything she knew, to the last vague memory of her time in the desert, how to shoot a ray, how to fight, the best way to murder in cold blood and feel nothing because it was killed or be killed. Half the time as a younger kid, he hadn’t even been sure if she’d come back for him if it came down to him or her, but the other half of the time, they fucking loved each other as much as someone could love something in the world they were cursed with.

His favorite lessons were always the explosives. She’d been an expert, back in her younger days, but she’d forgotten a lot of it after years without touching wire or spark. Still, she gave him anything she did remember, and everything else he picked up on his own.

“If you’re going to practice,” She’d admonish, always with that proud little tilt of her lips, the closest thing she ever got to a smile, “Go away from here. You’ll bring the whole fucking Industries down on us with an explosion like that.”

He’d just laugh because he knew his shit, even at such a young age, and the explosions were never big, just enough to amuse him and the kids who gathered around him.

They lived a quiet life, not quiet enough to die in the alleys like some of the pathetic souls he came across on his quests for jobs or messages, but enough to not be on BL’s radar. They lived in quiet places, no one wanting to grab attention and bring the white and smiling faces down on them more than they needed to.

Now, though. Now they would be getting out.

“Do you think they’ll have rent-a-ments in the desert?” He asked quietly, a few hours later. Bob had made him take his shirt off and lay on his back so he could rub some sort of cream a contact of his had dropped off onto Frank’s chest. It was supposed to make his ribs and lungs stop hurting or something and it wasn’t doing that much, but it was warm and felt nice so he didn’t complain and just let Bob work. Bob loved to drum. Frank knew that, even though Bob had never said it, because behind the rented drums, Bob actually looked happy for all the intense faces he made and the glares he cast at anyone who tried to talk to him. They’d be leaving, just as soon as they discovered a way out, and Frank was already imagining what life in the desert would be like. His mom had never liked it, but it had always fascinated him, the thought of all the sand and the hot _sun_ on his skin for the first time. He’d fucked with his hair and a bottle of bleach and some dye a while back and had liked the look, could pretend that he was a fearsome desert rat in the city on a secret mission, that the cuts and bruises covering his face and arms weren’t from bigger kids and adults fighting him off of some food or scrap that was rightfully his. Still, if the answer was no, he’d miss the guitar and Bob’s drums. He could play both but he really, really fucking loved the guitar - and not just because when he played, he actually caught Greasy’s attention.

“Maybe,” Bob replied distractedly. His brows were furrowed, blond hair reflecting the thin light managing to come into their little hidey hole and a focused look in his eyes. He wasn’t missing an inch of Frank’s chest and the cream really was beginning to work, loosened his chest. He started to cough, but it was normal and just cleared up his lungs from the attack.That didn’t stop Bob from making him sit up and patting his back gently until he was done. Then it was back down so Bob could continue massaging the cream in.

“I didn’t see any while I was there,” Bob continued after a few minutes of quiet. “But, then again, I was only ever a few miles from the city. We’ll have to ask the Used crew when we get there.”

“Tell me about them.” Frank mumbled sleepily. Bob had a colorful way with words when he described his old friends. It had only been a few years since he’d seen them, a few months longer than he’d been with Frank, but he missed them a lot and Frank really looked forward to meeting them, to joining a real _desert crew._

“Well…” Bob paused in his ministrations, leaving his warm hand in the center of Frank’s chest. Frank used it to fix the tick in his lungs while Bob wasn’t paying attention and went back to lazily listening to him talk when he started again, “There’s Poetic Tragedy. He’s...colorful. A real firecracker. He likes to fuck around with fire and he’s got shit aim but he can fight like a motherfucker. At least, he could, then. It’s been awhile, he’s probably gotten a lot better. I know his penmanship has.” It hurt his chest, but Frank had to laugh.

“Then there’s Born Quitter. He’s a shit like Tragedy. They would always team up on the rest of us. One time, he got a hold of some contaminated water. It wasn’t safe to drink so they let us play with it, use it to make mud or some dumb shit like that. He goes off and, I shit you not, somehow turns it into florescent purple goo. I was picking it out of my hair for weeks, man.”

“He’s my favorite.” Frank mumbled, stretching out and burying his hands in the warm shirts, the ones that Bob had laid on all night and were thick enough to retain the heat for a few hours afterwards, “Tell me about Shallow Believer and Sold Soul now.”

“Demanding,” Bob teased, “I’ve told you this stuff hundreds of times by now.”

“Tell me,” Frank nudged him with his foot, making Bob roll his eyes, but it got him talking again.

“Believer was on my side, or he and Quitter would gang up on Tragedy. He’s fucking chill, always talked us out of doing the really stupid stuff, when he wasn’t the one who wanted to do it. You’ll get along with him really well, I think. You two are both trouble makers who like to be all innocent when they get caught.”

“No clue what you’re talking about, Bobert,” Frank sniffed haughtily, “These lies hurt.”

“Shut your trap,” Bob flicked his stomach, making him suck in and giggle, “Soul was the newest member of the crew, before I got trapped here. Love Lies...you know his story already, but a few weeks later, I come back and there’s this newbie all nervous and shit, and he fucks up introducing himself. He’s a nice guy, too. He always liked to help me and Believer get one over on Quitter and Tragedy.”

Frank smiled, letting his eyes close again.

“Do you think we’ll still see Greasy?”

“His name isn’t even a secret,” Bob tickled him a little and Frank batted at him until he went back to rubbing more of the cream into his skin. It was working perfectly now and Frank’s chest didn’t even hurt, almost.

“Shut up. I’ll learn his name, when I talk to him.”

“To talk to him, you have to be able to make eye contact.” Bob pointed out, laughing again when Frank kicked him harder, “Anyway, _Greasy_ ’s got a crew already. I think he’s desert born, stuck in the city for awhile, though. He’ll not let himself fade into the background. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to woo him, maybe when you’re voice actually drops and you grow the balls to say hello.”

“Shut up!” Frank cried, face flushing even redder when his voice chose that moment to crack.

Bob didn’t stop laughing for awhile so Frank just crossed his arms - keeping them off his chest - and gave him a pissed look until he’d finally calmed down.

“You suck.”

“Excuse me,” Bob capped the small bowl of cream, “I just fixed your chest.”

“You still suck,” Frank pouted, “I’ll talk to him, you just wait. I’ll woo the shit out of him.”

“He’s too old for you, kid.” Bob rolled his eyes.

“Is not. When I’m older, he won’t be that much older. Leave me alone.” He pointed a firm finger at him, “You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous?” Bob laughed mockingly, “Why would I be jealous?”

“Because I’m going to impress the _fuck_ out of him and you won’t.”

“I’m not in love with the fucker,” Bob stuck his tongue out and just laughed harder when Frank gagged because love was _gross_.

-

“How’d it go?” His mom asked that night, when Bob had returned from the meeting. Bob looked drawn and annoyed, like usual after a meeting with Greasy and Blue fighting it out with Bob as mediator. Blue had two friends in the makeshift council, who Frank just called Red and Yellow, but they rarely disagreed with her and even more rarely agreed with anything Greasy said. Blue was really confrontational and aggressive while Greasy always sided for a more cautious, slow approach. Frank wasn’t sure who he agreed with more because they both always had good points, but it wasn’t like his opinion mattered anyway. He was only allowed to sit in because they had thought he’d been with Bob at the first one and he actually _had_ been with Bob following that one.

“There’s been an ultimatum with the donated supplies from the desert crews.”

“Ultimatum?” Frank frowned, “What?”

“It’s kind of like a deal breaker,” his mom explained, “Like, do this thing, or we won’t be doing anything at all.”

“That’s shitty,” Frank looked back at Bob, “Was it bad?”

“Not really.” Bob hesitated, “Just bad for us.”

“Why?” Frank frowned at him, eyes narrowing, “Why is it bad for us?”

“Let’s not worry about it,” His mom cut in, “I’m sure they’ll clear it up in no time.”

“I’m gonna find out.” Frank crossed his arms, “You guys can’t keep me in the dark. If I don’t find out now, I will from the other Paraders or at the next meeting. You might as well come clean with it because I won’t be shut out.”

Bob snorted, looking exhausted but amused. Frank almost wanted to give up and fix the nest for him, but he really needed to know what was happening. When he wasn’t in the know, things tended to go sideways for him.

“The only stipulation they’re putting on their support is that all motorbabies are to be transported to Australia.”

“Why’s that bad for us?” Frank narrowed his eyes, heart already sinking.

“Because you’re only twelve, Frankie. If we leave within the next three years, you’ll still be considered a motorbaby and they might take you.” His mom said quietly, drawing him closer to her.

“I won’t go.” Frank frowned, looking between them, “I won’t go to Australia. They can’t make me. I won’t go!”

“We know,” Bob soothed, “We aren’t going to make you go. They’ll have to make an exception, you’ve already been accepted into the Used crew, they can’t take you, now. It’ll just be a little difficult to explain that when they’re shoving kids into a van.”

“So we’ll avoid the van.” Frank said firmly, “They can’t take me.”

“They won’t.” His mom agreed, “We won’t let them.”

“Good.” Frank finally mumbled out after a few moments of quiet, which he’d used to calm the panic in his stomach, “You should go to bed, Bob.”

“Yeah,” Bob agreed, “Your boyfriend can be a real bitch when he’s fighting.”

“Shut up,” Frank kicked at him, “He isn’t my boyfriend and he isn’t a bitch.”

“ _You_ mediate, then.” Bob argued, flopping into the nest as soon as Frank had shoved it all together for him. He made an agreeing noise when both Frank and his mom joined him.

Frank cuddled against his mom’s thigh, let her soothing fingers in his hair lull him into a much calmer sleep than the night before. If he dreamed of a small, dark van, stuffed full of kids, all alone and terrified, he didn’t remember it when he woke up the next morning.

His mom made him use that canister of compressed medicine again, two inhales with a ten second pause between exhales every few hours, until his chest was completely pain free and he could breathe deep without falling into a tense coughing fit. Nearly three days passed before he was fully recovered and by the time the watery, leaky light had seeped in through the off purple clouds on the third morning, he was itching to go out and be free again.

“Hey,” He shoved at Bob, because Bob was less likely to attack him when Frank woke him up, “Hey, I’m gonna go outside. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

“Hm?” Bob blinked open his eyes and regarded him slowly, made him breathe in and out a few times and listened for the rattle in his lungs that had been present since after the attack. It must have been light enough for him because he nodded and told him to be careful.

Frank hadn’t been alone in awhile so he chose his next activities wisely.

Greasy and his crew weren’t in their normal haunt, an alley close to the outskirts of Better Living’s perfect society and where they made their home, but he found them playing at the closest market, probably negotiating prices with vendors to try to take some of the strain off the Black Paraders. With so many people coming into this part of the city, usually a small population but booming with the ebb and flow of people desperate to leave or, more recently, desperate to get their kids a ride to Australia, prices had soared. It was Greasy and his crew’s self-appointed responsibility to try to get those prices back down, to remove some strain from people who had to pay small donations every month to afford to get letters and such through to the desert.

Being like water came easy to Frank. He didn’t let many things affect him, didn’t have a lot of things in his life that made him _feel_ anything deeper than the need to survive, not like how Bob’s songs described living and loving. It was one of the things Frank hoped to find in the desert, a place that made him feel _something_ strong like that. He wanted to be passionate about something, wanted to play music and be free. Greasy and his crew were like a small drop of what he hoped the desert had in store for he and his little family of three, and if Frank had to chose something outside of Bob, his mom, and the nearest rent-a-ment guitar, it would have to be Greasy and his two henchmen that made him _think_ the way he wanted to. When he’d first found them, years ago on a quest for food, he’d come across Greasy and his friend, the one Frank called Afro Motherfucker. The two of them had taken one look at him and given him a whole loaf of _desert bread_. It had kept he and his mom full for nearly three days, filled Frank’s belly like he hadn’t even known it could be filled, and since then he’d had a small crush on Greasy - his kindness and his smartness and the way that, when he talked, his mouth would do a weird _thing_ and he’d sound like how Frank wanted to feel, impassioned and willing to fight. Before the Black Parade had been started by those two bumbling idiots from the desert, Greasy had been kinda chubby with long, dark, greasy hair - thus his nickname - and he’d always worn dark clothes, like he was trying to fit into the shadows the way Frank did naturally. Frank had been able to tell that he hadn’t been from the city just by watching him try to use the shadows around him. Greasy wasn’t meant for the Shadows, Smog, and Deceit of Battery City. His skin, pale as shit but obviously missing a desert tan, made him stick out in the dark corners of the alleys, but what made his displacement even more obvious was the way he tried to hide in the shadows instead of wrapping them around him like a cloak, something that came naturally to even the most inept of city borns. His hair always hung in his face, free and long and dyed with shitty black dye, and it covered his sunken eyes unless he was talking. When he _talked_ , sometimes Frank forgot that there was a world around him and he could sit for _hours_ and just _listen_. Greasy made it sound like the sunshine he liked to think about when he wasn’t paying attention to anything but his two friends was _more_ than just sunshine, was some sort of special _thing_ that city rats missed out on. He talked like what Frank imagined poetry sounded like, pretty words and this way of saying things that made it feel like a physical thing in front of Frank, just out of his reach. Frank had liked to hide, because the three of them were bigger and older and made him nervous, but he liked to listen to them just shoot the shit or, if he was lucky, play their instruments. Back, before Bob, when Frank had been in a fight nearly every day trying to keep his hard earned food long enough to make it to night, when he could share with his mom, he’d hung around in their periphery quite often, took comfort in their closeness and obvious sense of _family_. Skinny Ass - who seemed to be the youngest of their small group - made Frank laugh more often than not because he was just so stoic that he gave _Bob_ a run for his money, but his eyebrows and lips had a sort of language of their own, one he only shared with Greasy and Afro Motherfucker, and Afro Motherfucker would sneak Frank food when he was smaller, before he’d joined with the Parade and Bob. Sometimes, that generosity had saved his life.

Frank watched them for awhile in the market, picked through trash and picked pockets if people looked like they were too high and mighty to be slumming it in these parts, until he had enough to rent out the drums a few blocks away. Drums were always the most expensive, especially when you wanted more than half an hour on them, but Frank like when Bob had fun and he wanted to thank him for the medicine. After they got back, he’d find something pretty for his mom, something she’d like, to thank her for finding medicine for him.

He stayed a little longer after making his decision, with enough for an hour or two on the drums and ideas on what he was looking for for his mom, watching them work and making mental notes on what vendors they’d actually gotten to lower prices and which they hadn’t. Finally, he made himself leave because he was getting hungry and that meant it had been a long enough time since his meager piece of bread that morning that he should be getting back to their newest hide out.

“Where’ve you been, Frankie?” His mom asked when he made it back, “We were starting to worry.”

“Greasy and his crew were making vendor rounds. They got everyone on the north side but only the Smiths’ and the Ross’ and the Walkers’ lowered anything southside. The Uries’ are being just as stubborn as ever.”

“Good quality goods, shitty service,” She sighed, “I’m off, then. You two keep yourself occupied.”

“Got a few jobs lined up,” Bob mentioned, coming out of the hole in the wall to join them, “I should be back in maybe three hours. Think you can keep yourself out of trouble, Frankie?”

“I got enough to rent the drums,” Frank offered, “Maybe if you get back in time, we can go and play for awhile.”

“You got it, Frankie,” Bob smiled, one of his rare big ones, the kind that only showed up when Frank had done something really funny or drums were involved, “I’ll hurry back.”

“Okay,” His mom clapped once, focused them, “I’ll be back tonight. This job should pay pretty well so we’ll go and get some more water after I get paid. Stay safe.”

“You, too,” They chorused back at her and then they went their separate ways. Frank watched them until they both disappeared, going opposite directions, and then went back to the nest because he was pretty tired. He took a nap, only half an hour or so, though, because sleeping alone was never conducive to sleeping _well_ with Frank. Finally, going a little stir crazy, he found a piece of wood, splintered on all sides but smooth in the middle, and, with a plastic knife and the small shank he carried on him at all times, he began to pick and whittle at it. At first, he had no clue what he was going to make, just picked and carved until something began to take shape. By the time Bob had returned, Frank was close to finished, but not enough to show to anyone, especially Bob. He hid his new project and his plastic tool away in a small sac he’d found a couple days earlier before Bob saw and let himself forget about it while he and Bob began their journey to the rent-a-ment drum set.

-

The next day, while Bob was sleeping and his mom was off trading for a new, warmer blanket for the cold that was supposed to be sweeping in soon, Frank finished his project. His fingers were red, splintered and a little cut up from slipped wrists, but he’d managed to find some rough material to scrape against the wood until all of the splinters were gone and a thin chain to thread through it. He held it up by the chain once he’d picked a hole large enough for it to fit through and watched the charm twist slowly a few times before it settled.

His mom had never believed in the city like him. She’d managed, somehow, to keep her faith in God or whatever she believed in, and Bob prayed to the desert’s Sun and Sand, but Frank asked for favors from one thing and one things only; his city. The Smog masked him from danger; Deceit kept him alive and fed; Shadows held him safe in their arms while he slept. When he felt something, he followed it because if there was one thing in the whole world he trusted beyond a doubt, it was his instincts, given to him by his home. Now, being a part of the Parade, his gut was screaming at him to leave, to join in with this dumb rebellion and get out while he could, even if it meant leaving behind the alleys that had raised him since before he could walk. His instincts were also telling him that this would end badly, and not just for him.

Instead of worrying about the future, about something that hadn’t happened yet and which he couldn’t change, he clasped the charm between his hands and prayed as hard as he could for the city to protect the person he gave it to, to treat them as well as she had always treated him, to let them live through whatever happened at the closing march of the Black Parade Rebellion.

When he was done, could think of nothing else to pray for, he unlocked his fingers and traced the small ‘F’, felt the skin-warmed wood and looked at the imprint it had left on his palms, red blotches shaped like ‘F’s in the middle of his palms.

“Frank?” Bob’s voice broke through his little, isolated world, like a splash of acid rain, “You okay?”

“I made you something,” Frank said simply, standing and offering his closed fist to Bob. He’d crumpled the whole thing into his palm when Bob had appeared and it was already bad enough that he was giving this to Bob, let alone if he made it all _feely_ and shit.

“Me?” Bob blinked, offering his hand out. Frank dropped the necklace into his palm, trying to keep the flush from his face.

Bob looked it over, grinning just a little, like when he was behind the drums or Frank had done something funny, “Frankie, this is really good. Where’d you find this?”

“I carved it,” Frank grinned, showing him the plastic knife and sharp blade. He’d used his shank to get the basic shape but had had to downgrade to the plastic knife when his blade was taking off too much as once and he couldn’t control it. A little warped, the sides uneven and discolored, but all of his own work. “It’s a protection charm. It’s gonna protect you during the Parade so you can never take it off, okay?”

Bob didn’t answer, but he unhooked the chain and wrapped it around his neck, hooking it back and letting it settle, the ‘F’ in the center of his chest, “How’s it look?”

“Like a carved protection charm,” Frank said reasonably, “It isn’t a fashion statement.”

“ _I_ think it looks great,” His mom’s voice joined them and Frank turned, smiled when he saw her coming with a folded up blanket in her arms, “You did good, Frankie.”

“Yeah,” Bob agreed, touching the charm again carefully, like he thought it would break, “Thanks, man. I’ll wear it forever.”

“Good.” Frank agreed, “Maybe it’ll work after the Parade, too. The Used crew won’t be able to prank you with city luck on your side.”

“See?” Bob smiled again, ruffled his hair until Frank batted him away, “Always looking out for me. What would I do without you, Frankie?”

“Die.” Frank shrugged, “You two are real lucky, you know? Not everyone gets a me.” He grinned, big and cheesy, but his mom just laughed a little, a genuine sound rarely heard from her.

“We know,” Bob agreed, looking at Frank so fondly that Frank almost lushed, “We definitely know how lucky we are.”

Bob tucked the charm into his shirt after that, so it wouldn’t get broken or caught on anything, and they remade their nest. The new blanket really was warm and they’d be using it as a cover that night, but his mom had also managed to snag a few new shirts while the vendor wasn’t looking so they added those to the pile and made sure their placement was covered by the ceiling, in case it acid rained or something. It was getting to be that season, and while the acid rain wouldn’t kill you, it stung like a bitch.

After they were done, Frank went off because he’d found a job running messages all day and it had been awhile since he’d been able to find someplace that would take him on for a day or two. On his routes, he ran across a few of the little music circles that had begun to pop up with the new people pouring in. Greasy, Afro Motherfucker, and Skinny Ass did nothing to try and get them to move to less conspicuous places, unlike Blue and her friends, probably because they liked to join in when they got the chance. Afro Motherfucker was a guitarist too, admittedly miles beyond Frank’s skill and he could shred like, well, a motherfucker. Skinny Ass could play a mean bass and seemed to know the bassline to every song ever. Frank's favorite had always been when Greasy got the nerve to sing, old songs that had been written by the people who’d died in the Helium Wars, more modern stuff, even stuff that Frank thought were originals. It was just as beautiful as when he talked and Frank had to work to not seek them out in the music circles so he wouldn’t be late delivering the messages.

Music was all Bat City really had left and everyone took advantage of it if they could. The small pockets had started cropping up only a few days after the first meeting between Whole Oats and War Baby, with beat up guitars of all kinds, drums small enough to fit in laps and even tambourines and bells, even trumpets and saxophones, anything that could be dug up from the old times, before music and art had been outlawed. Then, people had begun to think outside the box - things like trash cans and empty glass bottles, anything that could make noise. They just started creating, fighting against the anti-expressionism in the only way they could with a ban on art - non regulation pencils and pens, crayons and markers, even paint, a mass stop-production of cameras and film, of anything, nearly fifty years ago, which had led to the uptick in musicians. You could take the materials from the artist, but it wouldn’t make them any less of an artist . The only thing that BL couldn’t take was the music made by instruments passed from parent to offspring. Drums were hard to come by in full sets, but there were a number of rent-a-ments around the city while guitars were most common. Keyboards and other instruments could be found, but they were kept pretty well hidden and you needed to know names and be known to find them. Frank didn’t mind spending hours digging through trash, risking being caught in the nice parts of the city finding some valuables or something he could trade to get Bob an hour or two to just beat the shit out of the drums, because the sweaty, tired, absolutely blissed look in Bob’s eyes after he was done playing was worth every moment. Sometimes Greasy and his friends watched them, especially if Frank had managed to find a guitar and could play with Bob, something fast and hard and angry. Those were the only times, though, when Greasy couldn’t get his full attention. Nothing could get his full attention when he was feeling the music in his arms and fingers, in his whole body, lifting him from the shit world he found himself in and into a better one, filled with noise and warmth and safety.

It was during one of those times where he was digging near the city proper for things to trade for rent-a-ment time, months after the roughly six day span his mom was sure he’d been born in, making him thirteen and only two years away from being safe from motorbaby kidnapping in the desert, when he came across the opening in the wall.

-

“That opening,” His mom said when he’d told them about his discovery that night, “was mine, back when my family were Tumbleweeds. It was discovered by BL, which is why we got stuck in the city, with no other way out. It’s not safe to use.”

“It might be the only one we can use,” Bob said softly, “If we don’t have a exit soon, the desert crews will pull their support and people will begin to leave. I think it might be our only chance.”

“You told me that had been covered up,” Frank frowned, “Why would they leave it open?”

“For shit like this to happen,” She shook her head, “It’s really dangerous, Bob.”

“It’s our only chance,” Bob repeated, rubbing his face, “We’ll have to tell them about it. If we don’t, someone else will, and at elast we can warn them that it’s watched.”

She didn’t say anything back and they slept in silence that night. When Bob and Frank woke up, she said something about trying to find another exit and disappeared without even eating. There was another meeting that night and this time, Frank was okay to go.

When he and Bob arrived, Blue and Greasy were already yelling at each other. They’d been arguing for months and months on how to get nearly two hundred people out of the city without being noticed, so once Bob got settled and gave Frank the go ahead, he interrupted the arguing with a loud “Hey!”

Both Blue and Greasy went quiet, no longer yelling but still glaring fiercely at each other, so Frank dragged their attention to him, “I have a suggestion!”

Greasy’s eyes finally turned on him, considering and interested, like he always looked when Frank had anything to say, while Blue looked at him in annoyance, like she was mad he’d stopped she and Greasy from verbally massacring each other.

“Look, my mom knows a way out.” He didn’t quite know how to explain it to them, so he just finished with, “I’ll show you.”

“What?” Blue crossed her arms, her eyes looking first him and then Bob over, “Why didn’t you say anything earlier, kid?”

Frank hated being called _kid_ , so he didn’t back down and just glared back at her, “Because it’s already been discovered. They left it open, didn’t close it off. I don’t know why. It’s probably being watched, but we’ve been frozen out and there aren’t any other options.”

Greasy’s attention had never been on him for so long and with Red and Yellow also watching him, Frank managed to keep his nerve only long enough to get the sentences out before he was falling into Bob’s side, taking the punch and the, “I’m proud of you, kid,” in stride.

“Okay, kid.” Greasy finally agreed, voice careful, “Show us.”

Frank scoffed at being called ‘kid’ _three_ whole times in a row in the span of a few minutes, but he did. Bob stayed by his side the whole time as he led them through the twists and turns of alleys, like Bob had promised to. It was an easy path for Frank to follow, he knew every turn and wall like it was a part of him, but he also knew that it was easy for others to get lost so he tried to go slow. Eventually, he led them to a piece of the wall, close to the center of the city he’d been digging in. Atop the wall stood six Dracs on guard. Frank spotted a camera, but there were probably more, hidden out of sight.

“When we get back,” Bob started explaining as soon as they left the sight, after about an hour of silent observation, “They’ll start yelling again. He won’t think it’s safe to use, Blue won’t care, she’ll win by default like usual,”

“But if it really isn’t safe,” Frank frowned, “Why would we use it?”

“Because it’s out last chance.” Bob repeated the night before, squeezing him, “If we don’t leave soon, we won’t be leaving at all. Nearly two years, we’ve put this off. Any longer and they’ll withdraw support.”

“We can’t,” Greasy said as soon as he and Blue entered into the meeting room again, but Blue was already saying, “This is our chance, we’re using it.”

“A hundred people will die,” Greasy snapped, straightening up.

“And all of us will die if we don’t find a way out. You’ve been outvoted, kid.” She shrugged.

Frank wondered if ‘kid’ was as insulting to Greasy as it was to him.

Bob put his hand on Greasy’s shoulder, because he looked like he was going to burst something in his body with frustration and Frank was a little scared for him. Bob looked resigned but underneath it, Frank could see relief that they would be getting out soon.

Greasy held onto Bob’s wrist while he calmed himself down and then he was turning his pretty, lopsided smile on Frank and Frank had never had that happen to him from Greasy before and then Greasy was _touching_ him, tapped his shoulder and nodded and actually _spoke_ to him, said, “Thanks, kid. You did really good today. My crew and I owe you a lot.”

Frank could barely stutter out a “Y-yeah,” because Greasy was _smiling_ at him again, nodding at Bob, and leaving.

“He…” Frank breathed out, watching him leave.

“Good job, Frankie.” Bob laughed a little, “You actually talked to him. Step one of _Woo Greasy_ is now in effect.”

“Shut up.” Frank said distractedly, “He smiled at me.”

“I smile at you all the time,” Bob rolled his eyes, but Frank just stuck his tongue out at him.

“You aren’t _him._ ” He rolled his eyes.

-

With a plan in place, there was one meeting after that and Frank wasn’t allowed to go because of another, relatively smaller, attack that still had his mom on the defensive, even more so than usual. Bob went without him, came back looking determined and Frank went to sleep with the two of them surrounding him, talking in words too soft for him to hear, even so close.

The next few weeks were tense. His mom wasn’t with them as much, as little as that had been, always off doing something or another - strange, since there was no more income in than before. Frank figured that pay had been cut with the impending departure of so many people, but it didn’t make it suck any less. Bob was always unhappy now, worried about something he wouldn’t talk to Frank about to the point that he had trouble sleeping, didn’t like having Frank out of his sight for too long and spent hours and hours with his mom when she was with them.

“Guys,” Frank finally broke, two weeks before the day they’d been waiting for for two years, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing, Frankie,” His mom tried, frowning at him when he just made a scoffing noise.

“Don’t even try,” he snapped, “You two have been completely different these last few weeks! You don’t sleep, one or the other is gone all the time, you’re even less funny than usual, what the fuck is going on that you aren’t telling me!?”

“Frankie,” Bob said softly. His voice made Frank pause because it was scary. Bob himself wasn’t scary, but the sadness, the fear in his voice, it made Frank more scared than he’d ever been in his life.

“What?” Frank snapped defensively, taking a step back when his mom tried to come closer, “Tell me.”

“We’re just worried,” Bob breathed out, obviously trying to gain his composure back. He looked ready to cry, and that was maybe scarier than his voice had been.

“ _Why_?” Frank threw his hands up, “Why are you so _worried_!?”

“Because this is a poorly executed escape plan and half of us are going to die!” his mom snapped back, “Because Bob and your boy were outvoted so now we’re gonna be leading hundreds of people through a hole too small for everyone to fit through in time and we need _you_ to be in the front fucking half, okay!?”

“Iero,” Bob closed his hand over his shoulder and she deflated, noticing at about the same time Frank did that he was crying.

“Oh, Frankie,” She sighed out, closing the space between them to cup his face and kiss his forehead.

Frank sniffed hard, choked on a sudden, wretched sob, and clung to her like he hadn’t since he was old enough to let the alleys adopt him.

“We’re just,” Bob joined them, wrapping an arm around Frank’s shoulder, offering the solid support he always had, “We’re just...panicking, trying to find somewhere else we can leave from, trying to figure out how to survive this.”

“Let’s just not go,” Frank broke out, trying to stop his voice from sounding so wrecked, “Let’s run away to the other side of the city. No one could find us, no one would care.”

“You know we can’t,” Bob said seriously, “We have to get out of here. There’s medicine in the desert, medicine that could cure you completely of all your illnesses with just a shot every few months, and we already promised Blue and the others to protect the kids who end up going with us, and the Used crew is waiting on the other side for us.”

“But-” Frank tried to stop crying, because he wasn’t a fucking _child_ anymore, but he couldn’t help it, he didn’t want anyone to die because of the exit _he’d_ discovered, “This is all my fault. If I had just listened to you, if I hadn’t told them about that hole in the wall-”

“Someone else would have,” Bob smiled a little, “This isn’t your fault. Everyone in this Parade knows what could happen and they want to do this anyway.”

“But,” Frank sniffed again, shoving at his own cheeks until the tears had stopped for the moment, “But,”

“No more buts.” His mom said fiercely, “Everything will work out exactly like it was meant to. We’ll all make it out to the desert and we’ll join with the Used and get used to desert life. You’ll be a desert whelp before you even notice it.”

“Fucking coyote,” Bob agreed, “It’ll be great. You’ll love the sun, Frankie. And all the sand at night fucking glows like moonlight.”

“Okay,” Frank nodded carefully, feeling like he was going to break at any moment, “You both fucking promise?”

“Promise,” They said together.

Somehow, Frank wasn’t all that assured.

-

The days following weren’t as tense, but that might have been because the two way burden had been split to three. Frank spent all of his time looking for a new way out, got beaten up numerous times for asking the wrong people the wrong questions at the wrong time.

He could practically taste his need for it, the hot sun and the burning sand, the freedom in his limbs, miles and miles of blankness instead of city walls. He had never noticed how much he _hated_ the city walls until he thought about leaving them behind. At the same time, Frank dreaded the steadily approaching date, didn’t like the way his limbs froze up when he thought about it, didn’t like the way his whole body was moving like he was a fucking puppet and the fucking world was the puppet master. He wanted to punch something until he shattered into pieces.

Two days before the day Frank knew would change his life, Bob came up with enough tradeables to trade for _five whole hours_ on the drums and found some guy who let him borrow his shitty guitar for a few hours for Frank to play. The three of them went to the farthest drum set they could find within walking distance of the alleys and played together. Frank showed his mom how to play some songs and laughed when Bob tried to show her how to play the drums and she compared it to kneading bread dough, somehow. It was the funnest time they’d had together since even before that fucking hole was found. Bob let them fuck around for a little bit before he pulled out his real present, the parts to a new song he’d traded for awhile ago.

“It’s called _Come As You Are_ ,” He shrugged, “You remember the Nirvana crew, right?”

“Hell yes!” Frank couldn’t lose the stupid grin if he tried, “Mom used to tell me all the stories about them!”

“They were his favorite,” She agreed, an actual, albit small, smile on her lips.

“Well we’re gonna learn it, so get your shit together,” Bob pointed at him, “And we’ve only got three hours to do this perfectly so get ready and don’t fuck up.”

“ _You_ don’t fuck up,” Frank stuck his tongue out, but he still studied his part until he knew what he was doing.

Frank couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard them laugh together and that was probably the best music of all, not that he’d ever in his life say that out loud.

“That was so fun!” He cried, later that night, nestled in the pile of blankets and clothes again. Bob was with him, the two of them curled together for warmth in the dark while they waited for Iero to return with the promise of bread and a little fruit as a treat.

“I hope we can do that in the desert, too.”

Bob huffed a quiet sigh against Frank’s hair, hummed quietly in agreement, “Yeah, Frankie. We will.”

Frank couldn’t stop the smile, even if it felt a little mechanical, just like Bob’s tone.

-

Frank and his mom stood next to Bob on the day. They’d gone back to the original warehouse, the one that it had all started in, with Whole Oats and War Baby and their scared fucking faces, like they were going to bolt right then and there. They’d been lying about their reasons, they couldn’t trick someone who literally worshipped the ability to farce and survive from it, but they had still started something. Something that had changed Frank’s life, Bob’s and his mom’s and Greasy and his friend’s, so many people were changing today with every second they stuck it out in the warehouse.

Eventually, Greasy stepped up on the familiar table, his feet in the same place theirs were when they started it all, and cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. There were over two hundred people in the warehouse, much to Frank’s amazement. So many people…

“Okay,” He started and fell silent again until the crowd went quiet as well. He looked over his shoulder at his crew, like he needed support, and then he was straightening up and shoving hair from his face, “As you all know, we’ve been planning this for...for a long fuckin’ time, and it’s finally here. This is your last chance to back out because it only gets dangerous from here.”

Frank watched the crowd from Bob’s shoulders, where he’d taken position to look over them. No one slipped out the back, no one moved at all except for a mother silencing her baby.

“Once we make it through that wall, there will be relief crews just out of sight with packs and supplies. A little farther than that is the bazaar, a marketplace for anything else. Any and all children will be put in the center of the group, and if I or any of my crew see you try to sacrifice any of them to save yourself, I will ghost you myself.”

Frank knew it was pretty hard to look menacing with a thin, sickly kid on your shoulders, but he didn’t doubt that Bob managed it. He, his mom, and Bob would be in charge of the kids, making sure they were all safe and secure until they were able to make it to the van that would be waiting to take them to Australia.

The crowd started shifting, moving and flowing until there was a group of children, towards the back so that when the march began they would be in the front.

“Follow me, don’t get lost because we aren’t stopping. If you have a weapon, stand towards the edges and fight back.” Frank watched him take a deep breath, close his hands into tight fists. He was only a few years older than Frank and Frank understood that Blue had chosen to sacrifice herself in the case of an attack from the back, along with Red and Yellow, but it seemed almost unfair, unfair and cruel, to ask he and his two friends to lead so many people on such a dangerous excursion. At the same time, there wasn’t anyone else in the world Frank would want to follow more.

“Some of us won’t make it. Some of us will not survive this march.” Greasy admitted, his voice doing that thing where it made Frank want to follow him forever, just to hear him talk. He could see in the eyes of the front rows that it was affecting them, too.

“But you will die protecting your fellow people. Your life won’t be in vain, and that might not hold comfort for you but there are at least thirty children in this crowd that will have you to thank for their lives when they take this system down.”

If the crowd’s angry rumbling broke his concentration, he didn’t show it. “If you do die,” echoed from him, like he had a microphone, like he was talking about more than just this fucking Parade, more than just the two hundred people in the room, “If you do go down, then go down fucking fighting. Take every single piece of Better Living scum that you can with you.”

There was no verbal response, but weapons being charged filled the air where there was once focused silence and Frank watched him, just as intently as ever, as he jumped off the table. Bob pulled Frank off his shoulders because it was getting to be that time, but he didn’t remove his arm from Frank’s shoulders as Greasy nodded at him. Bob started pulling he and his mom to the front of the group along. Greasy and his two friends followed close behind, by passing them when Bob stopped with the motorbabies and only stopping when they were in ffront of the crowd.. From the corner of his eye, he saw Blue and her followers move to the edges of the Parade, their ray guns pointed down and ready. There was no more arguing, no more fighting or crying. It was time to go.

Frank was the only one who knew the most direct route to the hole, not even his mom could quite remember after so long and the alleys were too dark and dangerous to be unsure of your footing, especially in the darkness of early morning. Blue had given into Greasy’s demand for an early go, to give everyone the day to get prepared after getting out and to use the darkness and well rested bodies from hours-earlier sleep to try and hold BL off from noticing them until it was too late. By the time they reached the mouths of the alleys, they’d separated into small groups, with the children still close to the front and Bob and his mom keeping them together. He could feel their eyes set on him once Bob nudged up to lead Greasy and the Parade into the darkness. They walked carefully and together and Frank had to constantly remind himself to go slow, that he wasn’t actually trying to lose the group behind him and that he was _leading_ them somewhere important.

When the hole came into view, he melted back into his mom’s arms, Bob messing with some red headed kid who kept trying to escape from the others and watched, terrified as Greasy took aim with his ray gun and Afro Motherfucker counted to three with his hand in the air. On the retraction of the third finger, three Dracs went down and so had the others and the game was on and the Parade went to fucking _shit_.

He heard Blue’s screams for the body of the Parade to keep formation but few listened and suddenly the kids were being separated and shoved aside so adults could rush through the hole.

“Fuck!” He heard and turned his head, found Bob, who grabbed his shoulders, “Go, Frankie, get the kids out! Iero and I will find you when we’re all out and we’ve got the other half,” and he fucking shoved him towards the hole. Frank didn’t want to listen, didn’t want to do anything but stay with Bob and his mom, but the kids with him were all crying now, looking at him because they’d been told to follow _him_ and he couldn’t be selfish like that, not with eyes like their’s staring at him, so he shoved those thoughts aside and gathered them all as close together as he could, “Follow me! Hold onto each other!”

They all clasped hands, the smaller ones being picked up by the older ones until they were a thickly packed bundle and Frank started shoving and punching at people until a path to the hole was formed and he left the city, left his city and his alleys and shadows for the first time in his life, felt the sand under thinly shoed foot for the first time, felt the dry air outside of the air bubble that was Battery City. Kids poured out after him and Greasy was there, pointing at a nondescript van and telling them to head that way. Frank, beginning to feel numb, started herding them where he was told. He slipped away from grabbing hands, back into the crowd, forcing his way back in because Bob and his mom were still gone and there was _screaming_ , there were _Better Living operatives_ in the crowd, there was _blood_ and so many kids were still inside, _Bob_ and his _mom_ were still in there.

By the time he saw Bob, he was crying, and he wasn't sure what was going on but Bob and his mom were nodding at each other. His mom was far behind, farther than Frank could possibly think she could ever have been from him and Bob and he didn’t know where to look, from Bob’s wet eyes to her sad face and back and forth and back and forth, and -

“Bob!” He shouted, nearly clinging to Bob as soon as he was within touching range.

“We love you, Frankie!” Bob shouted over the screams and crushed Frank to his chest. Frank clung back so tight his fingers ached and Bob kissed his head, and this was it, they were going to die but they were going to die together so it was alright. It was alright with Frank. He’d gotten to leave the city, gotten to touch the sand and feel the warm air on his, gotten to see the sunrise over the sand in a clear, smog-free sky.

And then he was being shoved, shoved so fucking hard that he thought he’d been shot, that his brain and heart had stayed where Bob was, still wrapped in his arms. Except there was sand beneath him, there was warm air and a loud, screeching squeal as a gate closed over the hole.

A gate. A gate a gate a gate a gate between him and his family, a gate locking him out here and them in there, a gate that they couldn’t escape through and they were supposed to die together they were supposed to be together they were supposed to be _together_ \- and he was screaming, screaming something he couldn’t even hear. He couldn’t move. It felt like he was having a heart attack, right there. Greasy was shouting something and there they were, Bob and his mom, passing skinny fucking children through the thick, wide spread bars of the gate, through to Greasy, to Afro Motherfucking to Skinny Ass to a stranger, to a stranger, to a stranger to the van over and over and over and Frank could see the white uniforms of BL, of Dracs and Exterminators, the black leather of Vixens, the fucking _lab coats_ of the scientists, all surrounding his family, all he had left in the world. Was this what they lived through every day, knowing that everyone they’d ever loved was dead?

The last of the kids were through and Greasy was looking at Bob seriously, Bob was saying something to him, something Frank couldn’t hear because Frank couldn’t hear anything except the blood rushing in his ears, the screaming and _screaming_ that BL was causing, the terror in his veins. Greasy left, left a straight view into what was happening to Bob and his mom, to his _family_ , to everything he’d ever held dear in his life, and he could do nothing but fucking _watch_ as Bob and his mom were thrown to the ground and the Dracs were just kicking and _kicking_ and _kicking_ until they weren’t moving anymore, not at all. A white-coat stood over them, shoved at them both with her boot until they were on their backs, like fucking bugs she was _studying_ , like they weren’t Frank’s _everything_. She pointed at his mom and shook her head and Frank vaguely felt his throat muscles burn, like they were being torn apart under the horrifying screams that left him, torn apart like his _mom_ was being torn apart, by a Drac, like it was a fucking _animal_ , like a dog, ripping and tearing until she was screaming and he could pick out exactly which scream was hers, which pain-filled, terrified, blood curdling scream belonged to the woman who had raised him his whole life, and he could only watch as she struggled and fought back weakly and finally struggled no more and went deathly silent. Frank didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to do anymore because he was just a fucking kid, he was just a _fucking kid_ and he needed them, he needed his mom and Bob and he needed them with him, he needed them and this couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening, he needed to _wake up_ , please, he needed to wake _up_ because the scientist was looking at Bob next and she nodded and two more Dracs appeared, two new ones because the other was still _eating his fucking mother_ , and Bob was pulled up, dripping from his own wounds and splatters of Frank’s mom’s blood, and they were _dragging him away_ , they were _taking_ him, they were taking him _away_ and Frank’s whole body went numb. He couldn’t comprehend what was happening. He barely noticed someone taking his arms, shaking him a little to try and tear his eyes from the Drac eating his mom and the obvious place where Bob used to be but he couldn’t look away, not until a hand covered his eyes. He reached up limply, found the wrist with numb fingers and suddenly couldn’t let go, couldn’t stop squeezing and squeezing, trying to solidify his body again, trying to bring his mind back to earth, away from the place it had gone. The wrist didn’t try to pull away, just pressed cover until his face was flush to the only thing he could feel in the whole world, the only real thing because not even he was real anymore.

Eventually, strong arms wrapped around him and he tried to fight away. The image of Bob, of his mom, came to mind and he had the sudden thought, crystal clear, that no matter what these arms were trying to do to him, it could never hurt like he was hurting now. He went limp and just let it happen, let the somehow familiar smell of Greasy fill his nose and take him away, stand him up and walk him in some direction or another. He didn’t care, he didn’t care where he went. They should just let him go, really. Leave him alone to die because he didn’t want to be here anymore, not without his family. Not without his mom and fucking _Bob_ , who had been dragged away by a _scientist._

They walked for awhile and eventually Frank was allowed to see again, to see the sun in the morning light and wish he could appreciate it the way he would have if he hadn’t just died back in the city with the people he loved. If he could feel anything in him except this somehow painful numbness. Like pins and needles biting into his skin that he _just_ couldn’t feel right.

Greasy held him tight to his side, walked side-by-side with him until they made it to what must have been the relief area, where there were a few more people hanging around for survivors that wouldn’t come. Frank could guess that maybe half of them got out, like his mom had predicted, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to care. Looking back now, he would have left every single one of them, kids and all, for just Bob and his mom. He wouldn’t even save himsel, as long as they were still - _there_.

“I’m looking for Noise Control’s crew,” Greasy raised his voice. Frank couldn’t look up from their feet. He just gripped Greasy’s jacket and tried to breathe.

“That’s us.” A new voice called out. A few people approached, four if Frank was counting right, but his vision was coming and going so he didn’t put much weight behind his guess. It really didn’t matter. Not anymore. The sand was a warm brown. Frank wanted to bury himself in it.

Greasy squeezed him, and Frank could just barely draw enough emotion to feel a tiny bit comforted, before he was carefully pulling Frank away from his side and into the Used crew, into Bob’s crew, sans Bob and his mom. And now he was losing Greasy, too. Maybe he could convince them to just leave him be, alone in the sand to die.

“I’m sorry. Noise Control died protecting him. His last request was for me to bring him to you and to ask you to care for him.”

“Why wasn’t he on the van?” The new voice asked, and Frank felt arms, too many to count, pull him into a warm, gentle embrace. He wanted to collapse. He did. They caught him and let him fall into the sand in a controlled slide.

“He slipped through. He’s older, barely in the range and he wasn’t with the other kids when they were put on transport. Will you do it or not?”

“We will,” The new voice responded to the careful words, the lies that Frank knew Greasy knew were lies. He was nowhere near fifteen and Greasy had been there when he fought away from the van. “Noise Control might not of been of our crew, but he was one of ours.”

Frank went fuzzy after that. He knew Greasy and the man were still talking but the three others were focused on him, wiping blood from his eye and righting his ruffled clothes and hair, fixing him up like his appearance would help the fracturing thing inside of him. He didn’t even turn to watch Greasy and his new crew disappear towards what must have been the bazaar mentioned earlier. He didn’t think he could take it, the literal abandonment after having watched what he had.

“Hey, kid,” the voice said, and it sounded like it was directed at Frank, “Look at us.”

Frank didn’t have anything better to do, so he looked up. There were four of them like he’d thought, brightly dressed in weird masks and fucked up hair. They looked around Bob’s age, maybe a little younger or older depending on the one he looked at.

“You Bob’s kid?” Another one asked, but Frank just looked at him dumbly until he continued with, “So he didn’t make it, huh?”

Another made a sad noise and they all reached forward, touched Frank’s shoulders and frowned, looked so sad that Frank almost felt kinship because someone else had lost Bob too, he wasn’t alone in that at least.

But then they were all smiling, and another one said, “Here, then. You get all three.”

He threw three big backpacks at Frank’s feet and Frank wanted to ask _what_ , but he couldn’t get his tongue to work through the whiplash of emotion, so he just nodded. The four of them circled him again and, before he really knew what he was happening, the one in yellow, purple polka dotted tights and a lime green tank top that clashed with his sky blue and sparkly pink maske said, “It’s hard now, kid. Get over it, because it only gets harder.” He wiped Frank’s face off of the blood he’d been covered in, some of it possibly even his mom’s, with a dirty rag and then dropped it into Frank’s hand. Frank just nodded because the guy was right. Frank couldn’t imagine this pain ever receding.

“I know you want to die right now.” The one who hadn’t spoken yet said softly, tilting Frank’s head up again when he let it fall back down, “I know you do. But Bob and your mom died for you. They died to protect you. They’re dead now but, thanks to them, you’re still alive. So fucking stay that way and don’t let them die in vain. They might be gone but their shadow lives on in these sands.”

Frank thought about that carefully for a few seconds, mulled it over in his head to try to make sense of the words because they didn’t make sense for a few moments. Bob had explained it to him, the Sun and Sand, once or twice. It was a physical pull in the desert born and even in the city born with connections to the desert. Bob had both, a constant pull between the city and the desert, though he’d been pulled more towards the city. Frank had it too, could feel how, even now, the desert was embracing him like a found child, like a beloved who had been missing for _so long_ , right next to the place in him where the city made her home. Bob had always said that a desert born could never truly die. That when they gave their colors, their shadows turned into sand and joined the trillions of grains, each a person who died for those they loved. Bob said that the reason someone could feel the desert calling for them was due to the people who had died for them pulling at them, wanting to bring them home. It was similar to the Frank’s Shadows, from his city. When someone died there, their souls turned into shadows and they protected the other street rats, kept them safe from danger. Thinking on it, Frank reconciled the truths within himself. His mom had joined the Shadows now, would protect the children of the alleys like the people before her. And Bob would join them soon. And Frank was in the desert. Maybe, just this once, his city would make an exception for him and allow them to become sand, to be with him while he made a new life here. This man was right. He needed to get over it and survive because they wouldn’t want him to die, not after they protected him. They died to save him. He saw that now. He remembered watching the nod between them as Bob left her side, as he shoved through people to get to Frank. That nod was their agreement with each other, their conscious decision to sacrifice themselves for him. To become Shadows and protect him in a new way, because they couldn’t protect him in this world anymore.

Frank _wanted_ to live. He wanted ot burn those motherufckers to the ground for what they did to his mom, for the torture Bob was going to endure before he was allowed to die.

To do that, he couldn’t feel this pain. He wasn’t sure he should be able to feel anything, if it led to this.

 _Don’t, then._ a voice seemed to chime in his head. It had never been so loud before, loud enough for him to consciously hear it like that, but it didn’t surprise or upset him. He’d always had it, had always been kind of aware that it was there, in the corner of his mind, helping him survive. It was the Shadows, the Smog and the Deceit that the city had gifted him with and even now, outside of her grasp, his city was helping him, telling him what he needed to to do live.

“It’s better to pick a new name. A new name for your new home, because who you were before? That kid is dead now.” Their leader, the one who had first spoken, smiled. He must have been Poetic Tragedy. Even never seeing it before, Frank could recognize the cocky swagger he stood with and the confident way he held himself.

“So,” Tragedy threw his arms wide, motioned to every grain of sand that the new morning sun shimmered on, every person who had ever lost their life for those they loved, “What’s your name, kid?”

Frank thought hard, a sort of distant feeling settling over his brain, numbing the _hole_ in his whole body where his mom and Bob had been only an hour or so ago.

“I don’t know,” He finally admitted. He’d never had to name himself before. Bob had promised to help him pick a new one once they’d gotten here.

Tragedy laughed, like his friend hadn’t died. Like Bob was nothing now. Frank took notice, and then took note. That was what it was to survive, to get over the hurt. They were gone. They were gone and it didn’t matter anymore. It couldn’t.

“Uh, know any other languages?” Another one asked. He was wearing a pair of goggles, beaten up and old but similar to the ones that Bob had described Born Quitter as having, so Frank assumed that that was who this one was.

Frank thought about it, hesitated, “My...mom taught me a little Italian? My dad had a really persistent heritage and he taught her the curses.”

“Okay, so what’s Italian for _fuck off_? You look like a ‘fuck off’ kind of kid.”

“Um…” Frank had to think about it for a few seconds before it came to mind, “Something like...van...vaffan... _vaffanculo_.”

Tragedy mouthed the word to himself, snagged the crew member next to him (purple underwear over bright pink tights and a longsleeved yellow shirt, a mask that matched the other three). They turned from Frank, tilted their heads together and whispered like idiots for a short moment before turning back to him.

“Okay, Frank. The Fun Ghoul. Say _vaffanculo_ , but with that in your head, too.”

Frank did so, muttered _vaffanculo_ to himself twice, thought about _The Fun Ghoul_ , and finally felt a small smile slide onto his lips. It felt wrong, stretched his face in a strange way, like his body had forgotten how to smile.

“Fun Ghoul? That’s my new name, _fuck off_ in Italian?”

“You got it, kid! What do you think?”

“I…” Frank blinked and lost the smile when he thought about the smile that would have covered Bob and his mom’s faces, the real ones that would have put the grotesquerie on his own lips to shame, stretching his lips like he was skin and nothing else, a machine. “I like it. Thanks. What about you guys?”

“I’m Poetic Tragedy,” Tragedy confirmed, “That’s Shallow Believer and Born Quitter.” He’d gotten Quitter confused with Believer, “And that’s Sold Soul. And what’s your fucking name, kid?”

“It’s...my name is Fun Ghoul.” He got used to it and finally nodded, “Yeah, my name is Fun Ghoul.”

Frank was dead, or buried so far into his new head that he might as well be. He was Fun Ghoul now.

“You learn quick, kid.” Frank made a weird yelping noise when Tragedy suddenly shoved him to the ground, throwing him from his knees to his back and side, sand flying up and sticking to the places still covered in tacky blood. “I’d ask if you wanted to squat with us for good. But I’ve seen that look in your eyes before.”

“I can’t join you,” Fun Ghoul agreed, looking up at him from the ground. “I want to but…”

“But you gotta find your own way.” Tragedy offered a hand, and Fun Ghoul could see the real offer underneath it. He could take that hand. He could take it and let them take care of him, become one of them, be safe and...and he could never have that again, that feeling of safety. His mom and Bob and Frank, they were no more. He couldn’t have a real desert crew, a real family, ever again and it would be a mockery of Bob and his mom, of the bond the Used shared with each other, for Fun Ghoul to try.

Fun Ghoul stood by himself. Tragedy dropped the hand and with a wan little smile. Fun Ghoul could see that he understood.

Fun Ghoul shouldered two of the heavy bags and held the other in his hand, got used to the way it dug into his shoulder, “Thanks for these, and the name. Could you point me in a direction?”

Tragedy smiled for real again and nodded, pointing away from the city and towards where Greasy had gone off.

“Down that way is where the bazaar is stationed for a few days for the city slickers - I mean, rebels.” He gave Fun Ghoul a shit eating grin for the, playfully said if a little severe, insult but Fun Ghoul took it in stride with a raised eyebrow. Coarse language was no stranger to him, though that particular epithet was, “You can trade shit, get the latest map, but don’t trust it too much. It’s purposefully fucked in a few places. If you’re lucky, you can get a car.”

“Thanks. I’ll...I guess I’ll see you.”

“We hope so,” Believer nodded, “And, hey, dude. A friend of Noise Control...he was a great guy. We’ll take you in if you ever need anything, okay? Any time, even if its ten years from now.”

They didn’t touch shoulders again, didn’t look sad at the mention of his name. Somewhere in his head, in a hazy, lazy part of his mind, because the old him and the new him were being separated, being twisted away from each other, leaving a wide gap between them, Frank could remember Bob mentioning something about a mourning ritual. A touch, single and connecting, a frown to show that their sadness was connected together, that no one was alone, and then it was over. You had to be over it.

“Got it. Thanks, again.” He nodded, turned and started walking towards the bazaar.

When they were out of sight but he could see the outlines of the bazaar’s vending tables, he opened each bag and searched them.

He found six full bottles of water, half a loaf of lumpy, hard brown desert bread and a ratty blanket in each bag. In one, there were four different switch blades of varying sizes, in another was what looked to be a tightly coiled ball of rope and a box of matches along with a fully fueled refillable lighter, square and metal. In the last bag was a chain with a small blue rabbit on it, the charm Bob had told him stories about. Bryar Rabbit, a joke the Used crew used to tease Bob about because he was from the Bryar clan. Bob had told him about the charm they’d shown him, the last time he’d been in the desert. They’d promised to get a chain for it, to have it ready for him when he returned and he’d always been sad that he didn’t have it to remember them by.

Frank didn’t understand the joke, didn’t understand what a Bryar Rabbit was, but this was Bob’s, something Bob had loved and missed, and it was all Frank had from him.

The charm Frank had made was useless. He hadn’t prayed hard enough maybe, like his city had punished him for thinking that he’d been so beloved that she would spare someone already marked for death and twisted his wish, because Bob _had_ survived the initial rebellion, or maybe charms didn’t work and it has just a useless hunk of fucking useless wood and Bob was just fucking unlucky, but this…

The voice in his head told him to throw it away, leave it in the sand because it would only hurt to carry, would be too heavy a burden around his neck, like a fucking albatross like the poem his mom had read to him when he was little, but just this once...for the last time, Frank would ignore that voice. He wrapped the chain around his neck and hid the little blue rabbit, the same fucking color as Bob’s eyes, under his shirt. He made himself ignore how the chain felt like burning against his neck, how the charm thickened the ball in his throat he’d been trying to swallow for what felt like years.

Under the small rag that the necklace had been wrapped in was a box. Inside the box was a single, white ray gun and a holster that clipped under a jacket or onto pants. It felt heavy and fully charged and he wanted to put it to his fucking head for a the first few seconds he held it. Instead, he put it back in its case and closed it.

He drank half a bottle of water and ate a small bit of the bread, let it expand in his stomach so he wasn’t hungry later, if his body ever went out of shock. Finally, he transferred everything around, until thirteen bottles were in one bag on top of one of the blankets, all stacked at the bottom except for the already opened one, which he left out for the moment. On top of the water went most of the bread, then the rope, the matches, and three of the switchblades, covered by the blankets and zipped closed with a careful hand. He put the lighter in his pocket, balled the other pack up and stuffed it into the third, then piled four bottles of water, half of one of the half loaves and the second smallest blade for trading into it and zipped it up as well. Lastly, he clipped the holster onto his pants and slid the ray gun into place. It had been a long time since his mom had shown him how to handle one but he thought he remembered most of it. That or he’d teach himself again. Maybe it wasn’t a bomb, but it did explode, in a way, and explosions of any kind were his think.

With his bag secured on his back and the tradeables in his hand, he made his way into the bazaar. He’d trade this stuff for anything he saw that he needed, maybe he’d find somewhere that needed a pair of working hands and he’d get stronger. Fun Ghoul would help him get stronger. And then, when he wasn’t a kid anymore, wasn’t weak, he’d take his revenge and he’d kill them all. He’d destroy Better Living and he’d raze the taint from his city to the cursed ground it had been build on and every sad excuse for a human in it that had even a fraction of something to do with Better Living and their filthy, scummy Industry. He swore it, on the blue Bryar Rabbit held so close to what was left of his heart.

He made it to the bazaar, traded a bottle of water for a ‘how-do’ guide on desert living and then saw that another stall was giving similar guides away for free. That was his first lesson of the desert. Bargain or steal, it was all the same, desert or city. Getting swindled was your own fault if you weren’t smart enough to do some good shopping. He learned the hard way for the rest of the day, losing a piece of bread for a can of spray paint that ended up being empty. He stole his bread back, beat the man with the empty paint can until he gave him a good one for free. No one tried to swindle him after that episode. The new can was monster goo green, like the comics he and his mom used to read when they could find them. He found a yellow paint pen, a little black container and a small paint brush, a pad of monster stickers in a set. He lost the last of his tradable bread, but it was worth it. Then he traded a bottle of water for a list of jobs that needed done. He traded a knife for a knife sharpener. He spotted Skinny Ass once and even through the haze of numbness, of Fun Ghoul, he wanted to catch sight of Greasy, if just for a moment. He missed seeing him already, missed that normalcy. He spent a few seconds wistfully thinking about what Greasy would do with his hair now that he was out in the desert, had access to good dyes. The voice in his head, the city, who _Fun Ghoul_ was now, laughed at him, mocking and mean and it made Frank want to shrink into himself.

To take his mind off of everything, of Greasy and the voice and the images that wouldn’t go away, he traded a bottle of water for his first shitty tattoo (The outline of a rose, faded red, and a rabbit in the middle on his ribs, the rose for his mom and the rabbit for Bob, a constant reminder of who he’d lost and who he would fight for from now on). It hurt so badly he wanted to scream but then something happened, his mind went hazy again, and it was suddenly bearable, like the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as before. When he was done and had it covered, he traded a little of the bread he wasn’t supposed to trade for a pair of good boots and a little more for some gloves. Then he put the knives and the lighter in his boots. He kept he biggest knife and hid it in his glove. He couldn’t curl that hand, but he didn’t mind ripping it apart to stab someone if they fucked with him. Today, of all days, was the last day anyone needed to try to fuck with him.

Before he left the bazaar, he sought out some of the medicine Bob had mentioned a few nights earlier, something that could stop his lungs from attacking him every time he ran too fast. It cost him another knife and a blanket but it was three doses and if he was careful it could last him half a year, the lady said.

The first dose was a shot, a long, thin needle that he shoved into his shoulder without hesitation. It burned going in but he bit into his palm and breathed through it and focused on how little it hurt in comparison to the shitty tattoo. The other doses were pills so he buried them into his pack and left the bazaar to scout a little. He found a nearly abandoned van with no wheels, the only other person in it being a girl in a baggy orange jacket and skin tight gray pants. Her hair was short and she was pretty and nice looking, but he couldn’t even think of trying to talk. She wore a ring in her year, a sparkling ‘J’ hanging from it with a red crystal of some kind in the little circle on the tail of the letter. It sparkled in the gloom of the van, caught his eye for just a moment.

They ignored each other and he kept his shit close while he ran his eye over the job listings. He marked a few of them off in his head and then settled for a more longterm type and ate a little more bread.

“Hey,” The girl caught his attention when he opened the listing back up, not sure where to even start.

“What?” He said, a little defensively. The knife was long and sharp against his palm.

“Relax, man, I just thought I’d mention. The Ramones,” She motioned towards his job listings, “I just left them, they’re looking for a new runner. Good people, good pay, steady income.”

“Are you fucking with me?” He narrowed his eyes, arms still tense. Why would she help him?

“Nah,” She laughed and her voice tickled him, made him feel comfortable, “I just know what it’s like, being where you are. I got out of the city a few years ago, but you look like you could use a little care. I’m Right Hook.”

“Fun Ghoul.” He offered slowly, “Um, thanks. For the suggestion, I mean. I, um…”

“Don’t worry about it.” She smiled at him again, “I gotta jet, Fun Ghoul. My crew’s probably gonna be leaving soon. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah,” He nodded slowly, “Thanks.”

She grinned at him, wide and a little sideways, and he couldn’t help but quirk his lips back at her. Then she was gone, and he was off to find the stall for the Ramones crew.

He found it, though it was armed by a lady, staring off into space with a look on her face he didn’t even want to get into.

"Hey," he caught the lady's attention, snapping her from her dazed staring into the risen sun. It was getting hot, hotter than he’d ever been before and his skin was beginning to burn. He needed to get out of the heat or find something to protect himself from the sun.

“You lookin’ for something?” She asked, looking him up and down critically, “Ain’t selling’ nothin’ here.”

“You’re looking for a runner, right?” Frank asked, not bothering to give his voice any infliction. She didn’t look the type to be tricked by cute smiles from a kid. He hoped Right hook hadn’t been lying.

“Experienced,” She shrugged, “Sorry.”

“I am experienced,” he frowned, “I ran messages all over Bat City, even inside Better Living central. I can ride whatever you want me to and I know how to keep my mouth shut and my eyes on the road.”

“You’d be working some pretty dangerous trails, kid,” She looked him over again, more appraising, “You got a name?”

“Fun Ghoul,” Ghoul muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow, “is my name.”

“Well, _Fun Ghoul_ ,” She set up, “Why don’t I sent you to the bossmen and you can see if they have a use for you.”

“Fine,” Ghoul agreed, clutching his bag closer and waiting for her to stretch, her hair catching in the sunlight and nearly blinding him a few times. So Right Hook had been telling the truth.

He followed her, eyes firmly on her hands for any sign of a twitch towards her ray gun, for any sign of an ambush, but all she did was lead him to a campsite, three thick black tents and what looked to be a covered cart, attached to the back of a small car. There was a firepit in the middle of the tents and three men set around it, in the mouths of their tents and out of the sun. There were feet sticking out of the covered wagon but they weren’t moving so Frank didn’t assume whoever it was wearing those bright yellow sneaks was alive.

“You brought us a kid? He need escorting to the caravan?” One of the men groaned, rolling over in his tent.

“Shut up,” The woman rolled her eyes, “Ghoul, this is the Ramone crew. Whelps, this is Fun Ghoul.”

“What’d you call me?” Another groaned, sitting up and pointing a finger at the woman, “You’d better watch it.”

“Shut it, Animal Hop. I brought you guys a runner.”

“A runner? This kid?” Animal Hop scoffed, “He’s a wee thing, ain’t he?”

Ghoul shrugged, “Small means less food, less water, less space and faster feet.”

“What about faster wheels, kid?”

“My name is Fun Ghoul.” Ghoul looked him over, wasn’t all that impressed. Bob had been more intimidating at half this man’s age. Bob had had so much in front of him. Bob should have been here with him.

The voice laughed at him again, laughed and laughed until his whole head was echoing with it, until he was wondering how they couldn’t see him breaking, how they couldn’t see the fractured mirror he was, reflecting back the sunshine to blind them.

“Fun Ghoul, then.” Hop shrugged, “What about faster wheels, Ghoul?”

“I can learn anything I need to, if I don’t already know it. My mom was-” He choked off, cleared his throat and was a little bit thankful, in the deep part of his head where he’d allotted _Frank_ space, the part that _Fun Ghoul_ didn’t want, that their face stayed blank, didn’t change while he got his shit back together. That slip with Bob’s name had messed his head up again, made the slowly separating parts mesh back together and he had his work cut out for him again, had to pick through and separate what was okay to keep and what needed to be locked away with _old Frank_.

“I know how to do things here. I’m new so I’m rusty, but I’ll get better and you’ll want me when I do.” He finally spat out, standing up straighter. He wouldn’t be weak again. Never again. Frank was weak, Frank had let them die, but they were dead now and no one could hurt Fun Ghoul.

“Arrogant little shit, aren’t you?” The one who hadn’t spoken before laughed, sitting up. His hair was naturally colored, long and matted with sweat. They all had long, matted hair, though the lady and one of the men had pulled theirs’ into high hair ties and two of them were wearing too-big sunglasses with mirrors for lenses. Ghoul thought they looked ridiculous, but he wasn’t gonna say that out loud.

“That’s enough, Affair,” she huffed at the man, “Loudmouth, can you go wake up Chain Saw?”

“Why do I gotta?” Loudmouth muttered, but he stood and fixed his sunglasses as he walked to the covered wagon.

“We’ll see what we can use you for. We’ve got a pretty big crew, maybe you won’t run for Chain Saw, but you’d probably make good work with the rest of the family.”

Ghoul wanted to snap that he didn’t care, as long as he got paid and could get _strong_ , but he held his tongue and let Loudmouth and Chain Saw have their chat away from prying ears.

Eventually Loudmouth motioned with his fingers, though he didn’t remove his face from the cover so Ghoul couldn’t see his expression, and the lady tapped his arm as a go-ahead. He stepped forward once, then again, until he finally was moving through the camp and he was close enough to the wagon to see inside. It was filled with a single man, laying on his back in the cool shade of the covering. He was having a silent conversation with Loudmouth, through use of eyebrows and lip twitches, and whatever Loudmouth signed at him, it was enough to make Chain Saw sigh explosively and nod. Loudmouth grinned, big and wide, and they clasped hands quickly before he was gone again, giving Ghoul an expectant look as he passed.

“Fun Ghoul, right?” Chain Saw set up, pulled his legs in and patted the spot across from him. Ghoul climbed in, out of the oppressive heat, and accepted the tube of something Chain Saw gave him with reluctance.

“You’re from that rebellion, right? That’s for your skin. A welcome gift from the Ramones to you.”

“I don’t need it,” He tried to give it back but Chain Saw laughed and shook his head.

“You will. Just rub it on your skin, it’ll block the sun from burning you and doing more harm.”

Ghoul gave him a suspicious look, but the painful tightness on his face, shoulders and arms won out and he opened the tube, rubbed it into his skin and bit back the relieved sigh when the pain gave way to coolness.

“You’re pretty young,” Chain Saw said after he’d finished rubbing the cream into every spot that ached, and then over all of the skin that hadn’t been burnt just yet or as badly, “What are you doing here, all alone?”

“I thought you didn’t ask questions like that in the desert,” Ghoul stuffed the cream into his bag, under the blankets so it wouldn’t be readily available if someone took his bag.

“You’re right,” Chain Saw laughed, sitting back, “Sorry, just curious. You know your way around, huh?”

“Can I have the job or not? It’s getting late and I need to find some place that’ll work me so I can have a place to sleep.”

“Wait, wait,” Chain Saw held up his hands, shook his head, “One thing you gotta learn in the desert, my man. You gotta _chill_ , or the big ball in the sky’ll burn you right up.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Ghoul sighed, but he relaxed marginally against the cover and looked at him. Chain Saw dropped his hands and crossed his legs, shoved matted hair from his forehead.

“You said you could ride?”

“If I can’t, I’ll learn fast.”

“And you keep your nose clean?”

“What business do I have for your mail? I just want food and shade while I learn the ropes.”

“Good plan,” Chain Saw agreed, “We’ll start you on something small and simple. You can have a map, I’ll take you over the trails one time, and then you’re on your own. You get lost, we don’t come lookin’, okay?”

“I don’t need your pity. If I get lost, the Sand and Sun forsook me right?” Ghoul blinked, “That’s what you guys worship in the desert, right?”

“Worship is a strong word,” Chain Saw grinned, “Venerate is a better one, I guess. I dunno, I don’t speak for the others born to the Sand and Sun. You city folk, you’re into the darkness, right? Ain’t got much of that here.”

“There’s always shadows,” Ghoul shrugged, “Maybe your sun hides them, but they’re there.”

“You got it, motorbaby,” Chain Saw agreed, “Okay, kid. We’ll take you in tonight, move onto our home camp tomorrow with the rest of my crew. We’re pretty big so I’ll have Sensation Away, the ever beautiful Crash Queen out there, show you the way to go to get to the usual destinations for my transactions and set you up with the rest of my kin. Havana Affairs will set you up with a bike and Animal Hop will show you the ropes of camp. You think you’ll make it?”

Ghoul smiled at him, didn’t let an ounce of the broken glass he could feel in his mouth show, “Yes, I think I’ll do just fine.”

He slept in camp that night and was off to their home camp the next day with Sensation Away.

It didn’t take long, for him to get good at the job, running messages and items back and forth between a separate group the Ramones were close to on a shitty scooter. It didn’t pay carbons but he got free bread, a can of dog food a day and three bottles of water for every trip he made, and the Ramones kept him warm with fire at night and supplied him with a steady stream of challenges and intelligence training as he got older. It was pretty good for a kid and he got a place to sleep (a place to paint his gun, bright green with yellow words spelling out ‘horror’, outlined in black and a Frankenstein sticker. Some cool looking zig-zags on the bottom, outlined with black. A fucked up smiley face, left eye crossed out and stitched up mouth stretching along the whole circle face. The hand was colored yellow, something bright and eye catching. He traded the leftover paint for some better pants), even enough time to run things for other Ramones for carbons or little gadgets.

Fun Ghoul got beat up a lot, when he left the safety of the Ramones camp or their delivery trails. He was a city fighter and these weren’t city streets. Unlike the desert trails, unlearning all the rules (or lack of them) and reevaluating his fighting style didn’t come easy to him. But, through work with Animal Hop and Chain Saw, he learned to fuse the two styles together, become a desert fighter who knew when he could fall back on his real strengths. Eventually, he got it, figured out what he was doing and why he was doing it. He got better at bombs, his true passion, to the point that Chain Saw started hiring him to make things that exploded real pretty, bigger fires than Frank had ever thought he was capable of making, and he got to watch with glee as his bombs were used against the people who had ruined him.

He learned a thing or two about how to play it, exactly what kind of guy or girl was soft on a sweet kid and which only responded to bolster and arrogance. He lost track of the days eventually, only knew when each month ended and started by how full the moon was. Before he knew it, he’d been out for a year and the anniversary of the rebellion was coming up. He found himself back at the bazaar that day, the day that marked a year since he’d lost everything.

 _Don’t be dramatic_ the voice hissed at him, the voice he’d come to understand was a _different_ thing, something that wasn’t quite him but thought it should be. He called it Fun Ghoul too, because it helped him to survive, like a new personality that was just waiting to take over his weak one.

The Ramones had imploded months ago and he’d been alone since, making a steady income on renting out his services and turning over small BL shipments. He had enough to feel comfortable trading a whole loaf of bread for two _real_ flowers, some wood and nails. He buried the flowers close to the city walls, nailed the two pieces of wood together to make a rough cross and prayed for his mom and Bob. It was the only time he ever came close to the city and the only time he let the careful separation of his mind mix just a little, let himself be Frank and cried for them for hours.

He left the next morning and was headed back towards his most recent sleep out, with a crew who’d been looking for someone to help attack a new outpost BL had just set up when he heard them. The outpost hadn’t been completed yet so it was in perfect condition to be destroyed and he wanted a part of that, since he’d only been out from under the thumb of his latest long-term employer for a few weeks.

“Ghoul!?” A familiar voice called and he turned in time to see four crazily dressed men, the fucking Used crew, running over from the bazaar main.

“Hey, we didn’t think we’d see you around.” Sold Soul offered his fist and Fun Ghoul couldn’t help but smile and bump it back.

“I just came to pay my respects.” He admitted, “I know it’s dumb…”

“Nah,” Quitter flapped a hand, “We came for that, too. Thought we’d tell Noise Control about what a pain in the ass his kid was turning into for BL.”

“Me?” Ghoul said mock coyly, “Nah.”

“Yeah, you.” Tragedy laughed, “Fun Ghoul, the menace; Fun Ghoul, the dynamite boy; Fun Ghoul, the one who knows just what to do to blow it sky fucking high. Your name might not be that out there, but we know who the mysterious bombing expert is, young man.”

“It’s a gift.” Fun Ghoul agreed, “Thanks for noticing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tragedy wagged his finger, “Just remember that we ain’t the only ones noticing. You better find a crew and get some protection if you wanna keep being an infection in the system.”

“I will,” He shrugged, “I haven’t been looking though. Things have been pretty shiny for me.”

Even now, the colloquial didn’t come easy to him, didn’t fit on his tongue like someone who had been raised by the San rather than adopted by it. He wanted to fit in though, sticking out wasn’t good in a community like the desert’s, so he tried to use them when he thought he could get away with it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Believer agreed, “But when things go polka dotty, just remember what we said and find yourself a crew before you get pixelated, or worse.”

They parted ways after that with a small present from Sold Soul being shoved into his arms as soon as the others’ backs were turned. It was a shirt, long sleeved and yellow and black, sort of matched his gun, and a little big but he’d grow into it.

By the time he joined Pencey Prep, nearly a year later, Fun Ghoul hadn’t thought of himself as _Frank_ for a long time. He’d run into some trouble with a few Dracs, started making enough of a name for himself with his knowledge of weapons and explosives to be chased if spotted and he’d become a pretty good shot according to a passing desert queen he’d camped out with. Being without a crew in the desert was a risk though, and one he didn’t want to take while he was still getting stronger, so he followed the Used crew’s advice from that long ago meet up, the first of a few since, and found one of his own.

Through wanted posters, he’d come across the four others. In the two years he’d run on his own, he’d picked up a few tricks as well as a name and with four other guys who, like him, were known enough to be chased but didn’t have a crew, he made one himself.

“So,” he spoke up when the last one had come through the door of the abandoned saloon door. It was part of the only standing ghost town in the desert and Fun Ghoul’s favorite meeting place because the town itself was silent and perfect to think. It was also located at the very edge of Zone 6 and he’d wanted to weed out the cowards before he asked them to join a crew.

“You Fun Ghoul?” The newest guy asked once the door had closed. His name was Secret Goldfish and he, like Ghoul, liked weapons. He was pretty good with guns where Ghoul liked his explosives, though, and he had a habit of finding large Drac nests on his own, which made Ghoul think he was a good tracker. Florida Plates, on the other hand, Ghoul knew was a good tracker. A great tracker, in fact, which was why Ghoul had invited him. Hambone and Ten Rings were both thieves, of the BL tech variety, and they’d worked together often before he’d called them here.

“That’s me,” Ghoul agreed.

“Why are we all here?” Plates asked with annoyance, rubbing at his face to try to get some of the ever present sand away from his eyes.

“Because I need a crew, and you all need crews, so I figured we could help each other out.” Ghoul shrugged, “What do you say?”

“Um,” Rings frowned carefully, “You called us all here so you could...what, ask us to join a crew, no pitch?”

“No pitch. I just told you, didn’t I? You need crews because BL is coming after you, I need a crew because of the same, we’re all pretty great at what we do. Let’s just do it together.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Hambone challenged, standing from where he’d been leaning against a wall, “What then?”

“Then you leave?” Ghoul said slowly, “Why would I want you in my crew if you didn’t want to be?”

“You’re crew?”

“Our crew,” Ghoul rolled his eyes. This was why he wasn’t a people person. He didn’t have friends in the desert,other than the Used crew and Right Hook, who he ran into sometimes with her crew Skeleton, and he didn’t have any in the city either with...them gone. Fun Ghoul didn’t need _friends_ , not anymore than he already had, but he needed _allies_ if he was going to continue on his path and, right now, these losers were it.

“Yeah, okay,” Ten Rings shrugged, “Why not? I’ve been thinking about joining up with somebody anyway.”

“Fine,” Plates frowned, pointing at Ghoul, “But I’m watching all of you.”

“Yeah,” Goldfish shrugged, “I’ll try it out for now.”

Hambone looked them all over, most critically over Ghoul, before he shrugged hard, “Fine, whatever. Let’s try it out.”

“Do we get a cool name!?” Ten Rings asked excitedly, “Let’s think of a cool name. This is gonna be awesome. A real crew!”

Frank wanted to snap at him to stop acting like a kid, that they didn’t need a _cool name_ , because they weren’t fucking _four_ , they needed _protection and support_ from each other to avoid being murdered by fucking _evil Better Living Industries_ , but he just kept his mouth shut because he’d wanted this and if a cool name would get Ten Rings more on board, then he’d get a cool name.

“You like books?” He asked, thinking over the names he knew, “I got some ideas from _Catcher In The Rye._ ”

“I read that one!” Ten Rings grinned, “What about Pencey?”

“Pencey Prep?” Plates offered, grudgingly, like he was being forced into participating.

“I like it.” Goldfish shrugged. Hambone made an agreeing noise and Ghoul pulled the lever in his head and turned his face on, let a smile appear and a happy laugh escape. This was a cheerful group, playful and teasing for all that they were unsure and cautious of each other. He’d catch more flies with sugar this time, so he let the smiles come freely and that night, once they’d bedded down in the saloon for the night to talk everything over and maybe come up with a plan for their next expedition into BL territory on desert sand, he took first watch. He watched them all while they slept, Hambone pretending and Plates so lightly napping that he might as well have been awake, and thought about how weird it felt, being with a crew that wasn't’t Bob and his mom, that wasn’t the Ramones.

He would have been sad, watching the crew that had adopted him while he got on his feet tear themselves apart like they had, but sadness was for the weak, he’d learned that a year ago at the time and he was still suffering, in that tiny square of his mind, growing ever smaller, _Frank’s_ voice growing quieter with every passing month. He would protect himself this time, he wouldn’t let it happen again.That look on Chain Saw’s face would never find its way onto his own.

Hambone took over a few hours later and Frank took his still-warm spot, curled up with his hand on his zap and one eye half open while he slept. It was a trick he learned from Sensation Away, to always look aware even when you weren’t, because even the prospect of discovery made most of the cowards run and hide like the coyotes they were.

The next morning was awkward and careful. Fun Ghoul finally let _Frank_ out to play, let him laugh and joke around, play little games with Ten Rings and tease Plates out of his shell, make them feel comfortable. Fun Ghoul played his part perfectly.

 _Frank_ played his part a little too much and before Fun Ghoul knew it, only a few weeks into the arrangement, he had a fucking soft spot for his new crew.

Goldfish was a headstrong piece of shit. He was thrifty, liked saving money, which didn’t displease any of them a bit unless he got cheap on materials for their given crafts, and he was a great strategist, something that even Ghoul could admire. Plates had been pretty prickly the first few weeks but he, Rings and Ghoul pranked each other constantly until, through the constant upheaval of contaminated-water-mud fights and huddling together for warmth, through intense battles with Dracs and even a surprise Exterminator that they just barely survived, through everything a crew filled with wanted BL-identified criminals could possibly go through together, they became something that wasn’t quite a family, but was as close as any of them could ask for in this world.

He and Hambone, surprisingly, grew closet of them all. If Fun Ghoul had been able to love, he would have loved them. If he’d been able to feel anything that wasn’t the need to survive, the drive for revenge, these four idiots would have been what caused it. Unluckily for Fun Ghoul, Frank could still do those things, he he did. He fell hard and he loved them with a cautious, terrified, but burning love for a second chance at a family.

“Ghoul?”

He blinked back into the present, looking away from the flickering fire to Rings’ face, thought _smile_ a split second before he grinned at him, “What? Did I miss something?”

“We were just talking about the raid tomorrow.”

“Raid? The one the radioman announced?”

“Yeah, they’re coming into Zone 2. We should probably be out’ta here by morning.”

“Yeah, definitely,” He nodded, “Where should we go?”

“Zone 3 is having a bash. I heard there’d be a few pretty faces,” Hambone nudged Ghoul’s shoulder, gave him a smug look, “What do you say we crash the party and find ourselves a hook up?”

“No thanks,” Ghoul pulled a face, shaking his head, “You guys go have your fuck bots, I’m stayin’ out of desert bashes.”

“What, they didn’t have sex parties in the city?” Plates teased, flicking some ash at him from the cigarette he’d won in a poker game.

“Please,” Ghoul laughed, knew when to start and stop before his mind even told him to. He’d never told them where he’d come from but he knew his city still hung over him like a protective cloak. His origins were as obvious as the stark, apparent tattoos on his neck and arms. “Sex parties are the last thing on our mind in the city.”

“Do you miss it?” Ten Rings asked, removing his stick from the fire to touch the marshmallow on the end. They’d found a good haul in their last raid, some treats and sweets that didn’t have enough happy pills in them to really fuck them up but enough to taste good and send them on a relaxing trip for awhile if eaten right. Ghoul had refused but the others had already partaken in quite a bit of the goods, which was the only reason he could think of that Ten Rings would ask him about his time in the city, or that Plates would even bring up his past at all. For the sake of keeping the peace, Ghoul would wait until tomorrow morning to ream them out for it.

“Not really.” He lied just a little. He loved the desert, much more than he liked the city, but in that part of him that was still allowed to feel, he missed Bob and his mom and the protection they and the city had offered. It wasn’t easy, being a bin rat in the desert with no alleys, no Shadows to wrap around him like a blanket made of darkness, no Smog watching his every step. The sand moved in a way that the city didn’t, every grain shifting right under his step, ever changing like the lingo, the fashion, the goods, the residence. Nothing was stagnant in the desert - nothing was as sold as concrete and rock. He loved the desert, he could feel the Sand and Sun in his veins like any other desert born and he knew that he’d been adopted into the Sands, allowed to live by the Sun, but he couldn’t help, deep down where no one but _Frank_ could ever reach again, longing for the times before. At the same time, and in the same way, as much as he loved the desert, he missed _his city_ like a sunburn, constant and not quite painful, but always there and uncomfortable. Missing always knowing that she’d protect him, wrap him in her arms of concrete and alleys and save him from whatever monsters he happened to run into.

Ten Rings accepted his answer though, read into the brief, rare moment of vulnerability enough to drop it, and popped the marshmallow into his mouth.

Goldfish leaned against his other side, yawned long and loud and snuffled against his shoulder, “Fun Ghoul, the virgin Zone Punk. Who’da thought.”

“Fuck off,” Ghoul rolled his eyes, but he didn’t shove Goldfish off. It was too intimate, too close, for him to push all of _Frank_ away, to completely separate who he was now with who he was before. The company was too dear to that stupid, weak part of him that was going to end in his death for him to disconnect.

“The Fun Ghoul!” Hambone shouted, “ _Vaffanculo!_ My beautiful fucking Italian!”

“You’re an idiot.” Ghoul laughed, surprising even himself. He’d surprised the others too, it seemed, because they all grinned too, big and stupid.

“What?” He snapped, flushing a little.

“Nothing,” Goldfish shoved at his head, “It’s just good to see you laugh. For real.”

“I laugh all the time, fuckface.” Ghoul argued, crossing his arms defensively.

“For _real._ ” Ten Rings leaned around the fire, gripped his knee gently, “We know something happened with you. You don’t have to tell us, obviously, but...just, like...I want you to know, we’re here. We care about you, even if this crew started out for some pretty shitty reasons. We’re a...family now. We’re a family now, and we look out for each other. We’re going to look out for you.”

“Stop,” Frank snapped, feeling his heart constricting, “Stop it, Rings, I-”

He couldn’t breathe.

“My name is Tim,” Rings broke in, “My name is Tim. I don’t have a crew, I grew up a Tumbleweed and left the business because the city never adopted me like it did with the others.”

“Are we doing names?” Goldfish set up, ruffling his hair and sniffing hard, “My name’s Neil. I never had a crew, raised by my sister before she passed away.”

“Shaun,” Plates chipped in, finishing his cigarette and putting the filter out on his jeans, “I’m from the Simon clan, before it got fucked up and separated.”

“My name’s John, it’s a stupid fucking name, so I go by Hambone. I had a crew, I left that crew, and here I am.” Hambone said after a few moments, where Ghoul couldn’t do anything but try to breathe through the panic rising, choking at him.

“I need to go,” Ghoul stood up, “I really can’t-I can’t do this again, I’m sorry, I can’t do this again-”

“It’s okay,” Tim- _Ten Rings_ nodded, “You don’t have to tell us what happened, not even your name. Just know that when you’re ready to, if you’re ever ready to, we’ll be here.”

Ghoul left, he took his bike and he drove and drove until he lost control, flipped himself and the bike over in the bone white sand. Then he laid in the grains and screamed until he couldn’t anymore because _Frank_ had been taken from the ringside and stuff back where he belonged in center stage and it _hurt_ so much, it almost overwhelmed him and for too, too long, he let the souls of the desert drown him.

He came back two days later and no one mentioned it. He still had to check himself when he started thinking of them as _Tim_ , _Neil_ , _Shaun_. Hambone was the only one he could talk to without constantly correcting his thoughts, so he spent a lot of time, sitting quietly with Hambone while he patched up clothes or counted carbons for someone or another, or Hambone would sit with him while he worked on a commission. He was the only one that wasn’t nervous watching Ghoul work with the gunpowder, wires or his own personal composition of material, just set and observed Ghoul’s calm, confident fingers twist wires together, connect and cut, whatever he needed to do. The silences, calm and smooth, made Ghoul feel better, a little more secure. Hambone fit into a place next to him that he hadn’t known was open.

Eventually it went back to normal, but Ghoul could never keep that distance that he’d once had again. It was too late for that, they’d found the crack that the rabbit charm around his neck at all times had left in his wall between _Fun Ghoul_ and _Frank_ and they’d widened it enough that _Frank_ and _Fun Ghoul_ were no longer two separate pieces of a whole again. The voice came back, _Fun Ghoul’s_ voice, because _Frank_ was in charge again even if he continued to go by Ghoul’s name, and it was Ghoul’s turn to stay stuck in the back of his (their?) mind and watch.

Sometimes Frank woke up screaming. He didn’t remember his dreams, he didn’t want to and not even Fun Ghoul would show him what he envisioned while sleeping. One of them, Goldfish or Rings or Hambone or Plates, was always there for him, if he wanted them. Usually he just wanted a Bust Head, so they pulled out whatever shit alcohol they’d managed to scrape up and he drank himself back to sleep.

But sometimes, he’d talk about something, anything, how dark the alleys were when he’d walk them, how the sand had felt the first time he’d really understood that he was _standing_ atop millions of billions of grains of sand, sand that had been around longer than BL, longer than Bat City, longer than anything he’d ever come across in his life. Sometimes, he’d talk about blue eyes and a small body like his, blond hair and a warm, safe, motherly embrace. Sometimes he just turned over and went back to sleep. Usually, the person he woke up to most was Ten Rings, and Ghoul and the others moved around him like he was what held them together.

Ten Rings was their rock, a caring, nurturing type of guy wrapped in a friendly and happy exterior.. For all that Frank was fucked up, he wasn’t the only one and Ten Rings had a way of making everyone comfortable, of making everyone happy when they didn’t think they could ever be happy again. Of making Frank feel happy when thoughts of Bob and his mom clouded his head too much. Ten Rings held them together, did everything he could to include them all and break them from their shells when they fought each other, or themselves.

It really shouldn’t have been surprising then, that when Tim died so did the heart of Pencey Prep.

It was a run-of-the-mill mission that went so fucking wrong. Just a simple, normal, every-day mission that ruined Frank’s world for the second, third, infinite time.

“Okay,” Goldfish said, pointing at the map in front of them. “This is where we’ve set up Ghoul’s explosive, this is where the car’s going to go when it goes off. I’m going to shoot them when the car has cleared the space, then Rings and Plates need to go in, get what they can and get back to the car. Hambone, I want you on the wheel, Ghoul’s with me.”

“You sure?” Rings smirked, nudging Ghoul, “He might fall asleep on you.”

“It was _one time_ ,” Ghoul complained, checking his zap to make sure it was charged and ready. It needed a new coat of green and the lettering was getting sketchy, but  it was fully charged.

“One time, five times, what’s the difference,” Plates laughed, then laughed harder when Hambone punched his arm in Ghouls’ defence.

“Hardy Har Har,” Goldfish rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, “Let’s just get in position.”

“Be careful,” Ghoul clarified before they broke apart, “Intelligence says there are two of them but we can’t be sure.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ten Rings waved a hand, “We’ll watch out.”

Ghoul gave him an exasperated look but Ten Rings had a lucky streak wider than the desert itself so he didn’t push.

It wasn’t until after the Ghoul’s road bomb had gone off, the van had swerved onto two wheels and crashed onto its side, skidding along the dusty road, until after he and Goldfish had taken out the two Dracs in the front seat and Ten Rings had stepped closer to the door that Ghoul spotted the wires and realized he should have pushed.

“Don’t!” He dropped his gun, threw his hand out like he could stop Rings before he pulled at the handle to the back of the truck, like he could yell _trap_ before it was too late.

But Frank, Fun Ghoul, wasn’t the hero like that, not in this situation, like he hadn’t been in any situation he’d ever been in. Instead, he dropped to the ground, all the air in his lungs lost upon impact, and watched the split second it took for Rings to pull the handle and be thrown back hard by the shockwave and fire of the explosion that followed. The van burst into flames but Ghoul was already scrambling up in the burning hot sand, having been down when it happened, and moving towards Tim.

“Bob!” He shouted, nearly hysterical, already feeling the voice in his head gearing up for the inevitable. Except he wasn’t looking for Bob. He was looking after Rings, he was looking at Tim, he was looking for his new makeshift family but, this time, he knew what he’d find.

Plates was in the sand, mostly stationary but moving enough for now, so Frank focused on Rings, on shoving the burning hot door of the van off of him and dragging him away from the flames, ignoring the blood trailing after them.

Rings stained the sand Frank finally laid him on and couldn’t even make a noise of pain. His eyes flickered open, shut, open, glazed and scared. Metal poked out from his chest, his leg, both arms. Blood poured. Frank saw blond. Blond and scared blue eyes.

“Tim,” He yanked his jacket, his top shirt off, balled them up and pressed them to the wound in his chest, “Tim, we have to get this out, it’s gonna fucking hurt but hold still, okay?”

“No, no,” Tim shoved weakly at his hands, “‘s too late,”

“No, it isn’t,” Frank snapped, “Just hold still,”

“No,” Tim caught his trembling hands, squeezed so lightly Frank wasn’t sure if he was just imagining it, “‘s fine...can’t feel it.”

‘Shut up,” Frank nearly growled, “Don’t say shit like that, you’ll be fine, it’s just fucking metal, it’s not even that deep,”

“Shh,” Tim patted his hand, “So-Sorry I didn’t...listen.” he slurred, smiling a little. His teeth weren’t just pink. They were candy fucking red, covered in blood like a neon sign. He turned his head and spit, globs of blood and saliva landing in the sand under his mouth. Frank looked down at his hand and wasn’t quite sure what to do about all the blood on his arms.

“Bleeding…” Tim mumbled, which made Frank sneer.

“You dumbfuck, of course you’re bleeding!”

“No…” Tim shook his head just a little and reached up, using Frank’s hand as a support beam, to wipe at Frank’s forehead. His hand came back just as bloody as before because his arm was pulsing blood like a fucking organ, but Frank understood and cursed because he’d been hit in the head and head wounds bled too much for him to handle right now.

“Don’t worry about it. Just focus on you. I’m going to pull this metal out.”

“Nah,” Tim laughed a little, “Nah, just...leave it...Ghoul...won't bother me...much long..er…” He gave a hard gasp and Frank could _feel_ the way that the heavy metal sunk deeper into Tim.

“Don’t say shit like that!” Frank snarled at him, “You’ll be _fine_ ,”

“Tell me...your name…please,” Tim changed the subject, “I really...wanna know.”

“It’s Frank,” Frank moved, set Tim’s head on his lap. If he really couldn’t feel the metal, Frank could at least make his head comfortable. He wouldn’t let him pull the metal out, the others weren’t recovered enough to come help him yet. He just had to keep him awake until they got there with the medical bags from their van and it would all be fine.

“Frank…” Tim laughed a little, looked up at him blankly. His eyes were glazing over so Frank tapped his cheek hard.

“Hey, hey, look at me, look at my face. Focus on me, Tim.”

“It was...I was really...happy.” Tim mumbled, gripping Frank’s hand tight. “I was really h-happy and I...that was thanks to you...fuckin’ love you guys, ya’ know…s-so thanks…Didn’t think I’d...get this again...ya’know?”

“Don’t,” Frank used his free hand to wipe the bloody, sandy hair from his head, wipe the tacky redness from Tim’s eyes, “We love you, too. We need you to stay with us, okay? Just stay with us.”

“Want to...’m just tired...’ll wake up in a bit…” Tim slurred, voice nearly gone. Frank felt ice grip at his head, felt Fun Ghoul begin to laugh in his brain, scream _I told you so_ until his mind was a neverending echo.

“Tim, stay awake, please stay awake,” He shook him helplessly, just barely hearing his own voice through Fun Ghoul’s, “Please stay awake, I need you to stay awake,”

“S’ry Fr’nkie…” Tim mumbled out, his eyes slipping closed. His skin had gone a paper pale color and the sand around them had gone maroon, “‘see you la’er…”

“Please stay awake,” Frank gasped out, feeling his throat constrict, “Please, please, fucking please stay awake Tim!”

Tim didn’t answer. His shuddering chest went still first and then his limbs until his head because a dead weight against Frank’s lap. He died smiling.

Frank screamed, so loud and long he didn’t notice when exactly he passed out himself.

-

They buried Tim behind the saloon they’d first met up in. Ghoul stayed silent, face blank and dry while the others cried together, mourned together. Fun Ghoul was still laughing. Ghoul dug the grave himself, while the others stood around the body, touching it occasionally like they were trying to see if they could shake him awake, to see if he was just sleeping or playing a fucking terrible joke. To see if Ghoul had been wrong and he wasn’t _dead_ , wasn’t _gone_ , had just gone on a strange fucking _trip_ or something and would be back any second.

He slid the sand back over the body by himself too, the only one with dry eyes enough to see what he was doing, the hole deep enough that it would take many, many years before the sand finally moved so that Ten Rings would show back up. A new grain of sand formed that night, as his bandana-covered face was buried under tons of bone tinted souls.

They sleep in the saloon. Ghoul locked himself in the pantry in the back, laid down on his jacket in the pitch blackness and cried. He cried and cried and cried until his face was chapped and his eyes ached and he couldn’t stay awake. Didn’t want to stay awake.

He knew he was still dreaming when he next opened his eyes because even though the world around him was black just like the pantry, there was a mirror in front of him. Something was different about his image self. He looked wilder than he remembered his own face to be, as little as he’d actually seen it lately, somehow harder and angrier, older and more mature. His mouth was stitched up, not stuck closed but it stopped him from opening his mouth as wide as he could. Like he couldn’t scream.

His left eye was scared. He looked like the smiley face on his zap.

He looked like Fun Ghoul.

“I’m dreaming.” He felt himself speak. Heard himself. His mirror self didn’t open his mouth. Frank took a step back, away from the mirror and Fun Ghoul stepped forward, _out_ of the mirror.

“Yeah,” Fun Ghoul agreed, voice gruffer and angrier than Frank’s, “But that doesn’t mean this isn’t real.”

He swung his arm back and slammed his fist as hard as he could into Frank’s face. Pain exploded, like he’d actually gotten punched, and Frank cupped his face, looked up at Fun Ghoul from where he’d gone sprawling into the ground, “How the fuck did you-”

“Shut the _fuck up_ ,” Fun Ghoul snapped at him, “You think this is _enjoyable_ for me, you fucking _cunt_? Do you think I _like_ spending my life stuck with a piece of _shit_ like _you_? I was _created_ by you, I’m a fragment of _you_ and I _hate_ it. You think that you can just _use_ me when you’re fucking scared? Do I look like a mother _fucking_ stuffed animal to you!?” He slammed the toe of his boot into Frank’s stomach and Frank hissed in pain, grabbed for Fun Ghouls’ foot but his fingers went right through him. Fun Ghoul slammed his boot onto Frank’s hand and Frank bit his lip so he wouldn’t scream.

“You think you can just pretend you don’t exist until it get’s good? Why the _fuck_ do you think I told you not to get close to them? This is the fucking _desert_ , we’re surrounded by _monsters_ , and what? You think you can make a _new_ family? Replace Bob and mom with some half assed, poorly organized crew? I’ve got fucking news for you, kid. The biggest monster in this motherfucking place is _you_.”

“No!” Frank gasped out, snatching his hand back when Fun Ghoul finally let up, “No, I wasn’t trying to-”

“Yes, you were, you piece of shit.” Fun Ghoul crouched down, grabbed Frank’s hair and twisted it in his fist, “You were trying to make yourself _happy_ again, but you don’t _get_ to be _happy_ again, _we_ don’t _ever_ get to be _happy_ again!” He slammed Frank’s head back and it was like a wall materialized behind him just for his skull to be smashed against it. He felt like he’d just been punched directly in the brain but it wasn’t enough for Fun Ghoul, who did it again, and then again, “You think you can force me back into nonexistence with a little fucking _fire_ and what, _love_? You aren’t _capable_ of love anymore, _Frank_ , you _died_ in that rebellion, there’s nothing worth _loving_ left of you, do you understand me? _You_ did this to Rings, _you_ weren’t happy enough with what I’d given you. I gave you everything you could possibly have now, a crew that liked you, a chance to get _stronger_ , to avenge Bob and mom. Do you even _want_ to make them pay for taking them away? Do you even _care_ , you selfish _fuck_!?”

“Yes!” Frank gasped out, “Yes, I fucking care!

“Then you fucking listen to me, and you listen fucking well, because next time I will _kill_ your pathetic ass, do you understand me? You’re staying here, where you belong, where you can’t _fuck_ anything else up for us, and _I_ am going to get us through this and find a way to destroy Better Living. _You_ are going to stay in this _dark, little room_ , and you are going to waste away like the nothingness you deserve to be.”

“I’m sorry! I-”

Fun Ghoul grabbed his throat, slid him up until he was hanging from the strong, airless grip around his neck. He scrambled uselessly, fingers and hands and fists passing right through Fun Ghoul until his vision had gone blurry and his arms weak.

“You’re disgusting.” Fun Ghoul said simply, “You’re _weak_ , you’re useless, Bob and mom would be fucking _ashamed_ to admit that they died for you. I’m going to avenge them and if you _ever_ try to take over, if you _ever_ try to stuff me back into a fucking _box_ again while you fuck around with your play pretend family out there,” He leaned in, squeezed Frank’s neck hard and spit in his face, “I will end you.”

He stepped away and let him go. Frank slid to the floor, onto his knees and then flat on his belly. He covered his head with his arms. Glass shattered and he blinked open his eyes, dull and blank and unfeeling. He was awake.

His body ached from more than just the explosion.

-

They didn’t stay together long. Without Ten Rings, Pencey really was four guys who liked each other but couldn’t get along worth shit. Plates left first one night, after an explosive fight with Hambone. Ghoul watched him go and didn’t feel a thing. Goldfish followed Plates a few nights later, leaving Ghoul and Hambone alone.

One night, after Ghoul had purposefully shot the fourth or fifth (or maybe sixth? Ghoul had lost count) Zone Punk who got in the way of his shot on an Exterminator, Hambone called Ghoul a fucking monster, a shell of a man, no better than a Drac. Ghoul shrugged a little and asked him why he didn’t leave him, then, and Hambone didn’t reply. They didn’t talk again for days.

Somewhere, deep inside, Frank wanted to curl up and die, just give up. He’d lost his family, his crew, and his best friend. Maybe he had someone to make a fire with him, but he was alone again.

They met Dewees a few months later, after many moon phases and silent firelight dinners, after hundreds of Drac kills and tens of Exterminator kills and more Beta Bug kills who didn’t stay out of his way, after he and Hambone had become a formidable duo, a scourge on Better Living, not having lost yet.

Like Ghoul, Dewees was city born. Unlike Ghoul, Dewees was a Tumbleweed who could return anytime he wanted but had spent too much of his life in the desert to ever make it in the city. Ghoul had been out long enough that his city life had faded from his mind outside of his driving need for revenge, but he knew that if he ever went back, it would all come back. Not even Fun Ghoul doubted his city’s love for him and he knew that, for all he played the part convincingly, he’d always be a street rat playing pretend at a desert dog. He always had had a great imagination, but he’d never escape the loving embrace of her.

Dewees had met them at a small get together for a large scale attack on one of the more secured BL structures. It had been something Ghoul had wanted to get into at first but quickly lost interest when he found out it was just a vehicle storage place and that there were rarely BL operatives on scene. The guys were obviously newbies, bitter and unskilled and not interesting to Ghoul in the least.

“Let’s get out of here,” He mumbled to Hambone, “We have better things to do.”

“Oh, man, do I agree,” A voice that was not Hambone responded. When Ghoul and Hambone stood to leave, the man who had been sitting on the other side of Hambone stood with them and followed them out.

“Hey, you two wouldn’t happen to be Fun Ghoul and Hambone, would you?”

“Who’s asking?” Hambone snapped, hand flying to his zap.

The guy threw his hands up, laughed and shrugged, “My names Dewees. I’m in Leathermouth?”

“Yeah?” Ghoul raised an eyebrow, “Why should we care?”

“So you haven’t heard of us, then,” Dewees nodded, not looking offended, “Makes sense. You guys don’t really socialize much, do you?”

“Do you want to buy something or what?” Hambone sneered, “Because we aren’t interested in what you’re selling if you aren’t.”

“Well, I’m selling the chance to get in on some real action. This? These guys are kinda just fuckin’ around. My crew and I are going after a _real_ BL post. We wanna blow it sky high, heard you guys were the people to go to if we wanted something good for cheap.”

It was cheap because Ghoul only sold the bombs when he didn’t get to be there to see them go off and Hambone usually stole the material, anyway. Not that Ghoul was going to mention that to this Dewees guy. They’d been running low on carbons and tradeables lately and they needed new parts for Hambone’s bike.

“You heard right, then. And we’d be coming along?”

“Wouldn’t turn down the chance to work with guys like you. You’re both so young, though. Thought you’d be older.”

“You think a lot of things that turn out wrong,” Hambone shrugged, “You and your crew okay with working with a monster? Don’t wanna zap anyone’s toes.”

“Monster?” Dewees raised an eyebrow, “You got a Drac on a leash or something?”

“As good as,” Hambone shrugged, “Ghoul here, he’s kind of a loose canon. You get in his way and he’ll shoot you without warning. Your guys cool with being on that kind of line?”

“And what keeps him from shooting you?”

“He knew me before he broke for good,” Hambone shrugged, “I dunno. We got a deal or what?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dewees offered his hand and Hambone shook, “I’ll take you back to our camp. How much for the bomb, Ghoul?”

“Five hundred,” Ghoul blinked, a little shocked Dewees would actually ask him. Hambone did most of the talking nowadays, “And three days rations.”

“Ouch,” Dewees frowned, “They said cheap.”

“You said you wanted a good one. You want to blow up a whole post? That’s gonna cost.” Ghoul shrugged, “Take it or leave it.”

“Guy’s gotta make a living,” Hambone chimed in, looking up at the darkening sky, the purple clouds off in the distance. Acid rain was a lot more acidic in the desert, not like in the city. Sometimes, when Fun Ghoul was quiet in his head, Frank thought about stepping out in it and seeing just how long it took for him to melt.

“I’ll take it.” Dewees said after a few seconds deliberation, “You guys ready to go now? It’s not quite dark enough for me to lose you too easily.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hambone nodded, “Lead the way, Dewees.”

Dewees led them into a camp about ten strong, a zone over from the camp they had no trouble abandoning. It was the largest crew Ghoul had seen since the Ramones but it wasn’t a family crew, not like the Jersey crew Ghoul had heard about in stories or the Chicago crew that had disappeared into the city in myths and shit, and it was obvious to tell it was a military style group from the open weapon cleaning to the scuffling men in the outskirts.

“Yo, Dewees, you bring home fresh meat?”

“Better,” Dewees broke in before Hambone could snap something back, “Greaser, meet Fun Ghoul and Hambone.”

“No shit?” The man who had spoken before stood and looked them over, “You’re the bomb guys, right?”

“Yeah,” Hambone shrugged, because it was as close a name as they would go by now, “We’re the bomb guys.”

“I hired them to make us something big enough to blow that post a few miles away.” Dewees said, “We can pick through the wreckage and trade what we want.”

“How much?” Greaser asked, more curious than suspicious.

“Not too bad for a bomb as big as we want. And we’ll even have the expert with us to set it up so no one loses fingers this time around.”

Hambone might have flinched but Ghoul’s face remained blank.

“Well, then,” Greaser shrugged, “Welcome to camp, guys.”

Hambone left the next day to find the materials Ghoul would need, familiar by now with Ghoul’s check list and knowing where he needed to go to find them, and Ghoul stayed behind to set up a small work space. Dewees gave him his tent without argument and joined him while he cleaned away an area and watched without complaint as Ghoul cut a hole in his tent to let more light in.

“So you and Hambone, you’ve been together for awhile?”

Ghoul shrugged, continued cleaning.

“He makes the bombs, right? They always say you two are the bomb guys but if he’s off to get the materials while you’re cleaning up…”

“Yeah,” Ghoul said without thought, then paused and thought about it. It might actually be better if they thought Hambone was the real bomb expert. If they ended up sticking around longer, which Ghoul gave a good chance of happening, Dewees would be the one he’d want to get close to. He was obviously a trusted member of the camp, friendly and most likely to take in a stupid, naive kid with a bad reputation.

“Yeah,” Ghoul repeated, warming to the idea a little. Hambone was gonna leave him sooner or later, he’d lost all fondness for him in the last few months and only stuck with him due to familiarity and because he knew Ghoul wouldn’t leave him - fucking _Frank_ ’s influence, not wanting to lose the last of his old crew. “He’s, uh, he’s great at it. I just clean up for him, make sure he’s got everything he needs.”

“You guys must be close, then.”

“Not really. Not anymore.” Ghoul dropped his voice, and wasn’t this a role reversal, Fun Ghoul pretending to be _Frank_ , “We used to be, back when we were with our crew. But, uh, things are different now. People change.”

“That sucks,” Dewees said sympathetically, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Ghoul shot him a small, pale imitation of a smile, “It’s life, you know?”

 _He’s a nice guy,_ he thought.

 _He’s our ticket to security_ , Fun Ghoul corrected.

When Hambone returned, Dewees left them alone and Ghoul shut the tent closed tightly.

Hambone set back and watched the light shift under the tarp while Ghoul got to work.

It wasn’t until he was mostly done, a few wires out of place and a couple components that would need to be worked on once everything else had set, that he brought it up to Hambone.

“I told Dewees you make the bombs.”

“Why?” Hambone blinked at him, looking suspicious. He didn’t trust Ghoul anymore. It made Frank sad, somewhere deep. But sadness wouldn’t help him survive, neither of them in this one fucked up body, so it was ignored.

“Because I didn’t want them knowing it was me.”

“You manipulative shit,” Hambone rolled his eyes, “You’re doing that shit again, aren’t you? Make them think you’re some stupid kid.”

“Just don’t fuck up,” Ghoul turned away, tinkering with the wires until it was all done and complete. He set a blanket over it to keep it out of the thin sunlight peeking in and started mending the hole in the tent. Usually he’d leave it, but Dewees had been nicer to him than anyone had been since Rings’ death and _Frank_ wouldn’t let it rest until the hole had been patched.

“I’m not the fuck up here, Ghoul,” Hambone snapped back, but he didn’t let the beans spill when Dewees called _knock, knock_ and camp back into the tent.

“Wow, you’re done already?” He asked Hambone, who shrugged.

“He moves fast,” Ghoul smiled, felt his lips stretch in a once familiar way. Hambone made a disgusted face from behind Dewee, but blinked back to normal when Dewees looked between them.

“He sure does. I’ll go tell Greaser. We can probably get the go ahead to do it tomorrow, if that’s good with you guys.”

“That’s fine,” Ghoul agreed, “We’ll be ready.”

“Great. You guys can crash in my tent again, if that’s cool with you.” He dropped a bag between them and patted it, “This is your payment. 500 carbons and the rations you wanted.”

“Thanks,” Ghoul nodded, wrapped the bomb up completely with the blanket and handed it to him, “Here’s your product. Try not to drop it on anything hot.”

“So blasé,” Dewees laughed, taking the package carefully but confidently for all his teasing. He saluted them with two fingers and then left, closing the tent flap behind him.

“This could be good,” Hambone mumbled a few hours later in the silence of a sleeping camp. The tent was completely dark, the only light coming from the weak fire in the middle of the camp and the only sound from the shifting watchmen too far away to hear their quiet words.

“I guess.”

“Try not to get anyone killed with your bombs and they might let us stay.” Hambone shot at him. It took Ghoul’s breathe away-  had him frigid and upright in less time than it took to finish the words. Hambone went to sleep while Ghoul was still silently gasping at his words, sitting alone in the dark, surrounded by the space where so many shadows had once been beside him. Moonlight like bone reminded him that every shadow now gone was by his own doing.

-

The bombing, of course, went off without a hitch. Like Hambone had predicted, with Ghoul’s explosion resulting in no unwanted casualties, they were invited to stay for awhile and help out if they wanted to. Leathermouth was the first crew they’d run into that seemed to purposefully seek out BL and wreck havoc on them, from Dracs to Exterminators, even to Scarecrows. Even other Zone rats who got in their way were taken out. Hambone never had a problem with it when it was the _crew_ doing it, but he still treated Ghoul like he was some sort of monster, far worse than even Better Living. Despite Hambone’s problem with him, Fun Ghoul reveled in the violence. Frank hid from it, buried himself deeper and deeper until sometimes all Ghoul had inside of his head was Fun Ghoul’s voice and nothing else.

He’d been correct in assuming that Dewees would take him under his wing within a few days of his and Hambone’s integration into Leathermouth but he’d mislabeled Dewees’ position in the crew. He did have a respectable standing, mostly due to his status as a Tumbleweed and a great trader. It also helped that the radioman was in his speed dial and Dewees often went away for a night to fill in for him when he got sick, something to do with having caught the VMAs in the Helium Wars. Leathermouth didn’t much like the radioman, but they understood that the rest of the desert did and Dewees, as a friend of Dr. D, was in high demand. For the same reason that they respected and were a little awed by him, the crew didn’t quite trust him because they knew his loyalties were never truly to them. Having Dewees as a mentor figure for this young, naive character he’d created, Ghoul had already sectioned himself away from the others and that was not a good thing when he had a snake like Hambone as his companion.

With a new crew to back him up, Hambone all but abandoned him. He didn’t lower his voice when he called Ghoul a monster, no better than a fuckin’ Zombie. He recounted how Ten Rings had die over the fire one night, the collapse of their old crew, and Frank retreated farther into the darkness as Leathermouth picked up on the fact that he was fresh meat, a target all on his own and there for the torment. Hambone was right, of course. He’d killed Ten Rings, he hadn’t been fast enough warning him, hadn’t been fast enough stopping the blood, hadn’t been fast enough ever in his life and it was time he stopped being so selfish and let Fun Ghoul run the show. Thinking of Tim hurt too much anyway, so what was even the point? His best friend hated him, his crew was gone, his family was gone. All he had was Dewees, who left often enough that he couldn’t stop it when Leathermouth turned on him. Where Ghoul had stuck with Dewees, Hambone had stuck to Greaser, who had a similar backstory to Hambone’s, only altering in that he’d killed his traitor best friend. Greaser took exception to Ghoul’s life and went out of his way to fuck with him when Dewees wasn’t around, the only person who ever tried to get him to knock his shit off. Ghoul couldn’t say he was sorry the first time Dewees tried to explain to him how to wire a bomb and he’d followed his instructions to the letter, only for it to explode and open up a hole in the floor of the moving van large enough for dust and dirt to fill the back. He’d had to take his next dose of medicine a month early, but it had been worth it to see Hambone’s frustrated face. He’d already fallen into the lie that he was the bomb expert and Ghoul would answer questions when asked because he was a great _assistant_ and was learning the ropes from him and outing Ghoul as the real expert would have just put him in Greaser’s bad books as a liar.

Dewees was a cool guy. Frank really liked him, when Fun Ghoul had to rest and he’d allow Frank time to himself, without his insidious voice telling him just how to smile, just what movements to make to make it easier for himself. They’d sit by their own, personal fire just outside the lip of Dewees’ tent when the others were eating around the main one and Dewees would impart whatever advice came to mind. Some of it was useful, but a lot of it was stuff Frank had learned his first year in the desert. Still, Dewees cared for him, it was obvious to see because Dewees worn it all on his sleeves like an idiot, and the least Ghoul could do was to listen.

That night’s was a lesson on BL operatives and the best way to face them, and even though Ghoul knew his shit about _that_ particular subject, he let Dewees have his fun.

“Now, ‘crows. They’re the big bads, kid. Never go against them yourself, you’d need to have at least four others with ya’. The whole team, if you can get it. ‘terminators, those are a piece of cake, providing you’ve got a bro or two to help you out.” He elbowed Ghoul playfully and Ghoul couldn’t help but smile a little, grim but still a real smile, “Now you and I, we’re partners, so we’d be fine against one of the ‘fuckers..”

“Partners?” Ghoul tasted the word, felt how it formed on his tongue and tried not to flinch away from the fear that the word was beginning to instill in him.

“‘xactly. Dracs are the easiest to kill. They’re basically zombies, did you know? Don’t take their masks off because you’re pretty likely to find someone you knew once. Animated corpses, is what they are. Animals. We don’t know how they make them, but whatever they do, it isn’t natural.”

“Like those weapons that rumors are circulating about?”

“Yeah,” Dewees agreed, “Like those weapons. But Dracs are a little easier than guns that turn you into ash with one shot. If you’re alone and more than six of them show up, you need to get out’ta there, though. You can’t beat the sea, no matter how strong you are.”

“The sea?” Ghoul frowned at him, “What’s the sea look like, Dewees? Have you been there?”

“What?” Dewees frowned at him, “You haven’t...didn’t anyone ever take you to the coast?”

“I grew up in the city.” Ghoul shrugged, “There aren’t exactly day trips to the coast. And I’ve never gone past Zone 6. Pretty hard to fight BL when you’re in uncharted territory.”

“Geez,” Dewees blinked at him, “Well...it’s huge. As far as the eye can see, just this blue and green mass of water. You can’t drink it, it’s all salt and fish shit, but it’s _beautiful_ , man. I’ll show it to you, sometime. We’ll go together, while these fogey’s are sleeping and you can see for yourself. There are some seriously cool things that live in it, too. Sharks, for one.”

“Those are the teeth monsters, right? Like missiles in the water.”

“Yeah,” Dewees laughed, “Teeth monsters is right. One almost ate me once, while I was in the water. And shells, you’d like those. They come in all sorts of colors. Some of them are older than the Sand itself, you know? Pieces of monsters, big as Bat city itself with teeth longer than you and me combined and sharp as your tongue, that lived a long time ago.”

“Bullshit, monsters.” Ghoul protested, “You’re lying.”

“Am not, I swear. Dr. D has a bunch of books on the past, before BL. There’s even a museum, in Australia. I told you I’ve been there before, right?”

“No,” Ghoul breathed out in awe, realer than Fun Ghoul would have liked, “No way. You’ve been to Australia?”

“Yep,” Dewees nodded, “One of the ships was short a guy so I volunteered. I came right back on the next ship, but I was there for about a month and I learned a lot. They’re called dinosaurs and there are even some of their descendents left, all over the world, outside of BL’s reach. Not even a Drac can scare a shark, that’s for sure. Maybe we can see it one day.”

“A dinosaur?”

“Australia, you dumbfuck,” Dewees laughed, “Dinos are all dead now. Meteor or something killed most of them.”

“I wish a meteor or something would come and kill all of BL.” Ghoul mumbled, looking into the fire.

Dewees didn’t say anything, but he wrapped a strong arm around him. If Ghoul closed his eyes, he could almost pretend it was Bob. Even years later, he missed the feeling of Bob around him, keeping him safe as he’s ever been, of his mom’s silent presence next to him. He didn’t think he’d ever stop missing that, or of feeling the ghostly mockery of it in every touch he received.

They set in silence for awhile before Dewees breathed out and picked back up where he’d left off on his _lesson_ , “‘crows hang around alone or in pairs. Separate them if they’re in pairs and you’re golden, but if you try to fight them while they’re together, it’s useless. Exterminators always have at least five Dracs with them and they’re the commander so if you kill the ‘terminator, the Dracs go crazy and you’re milkshakes, baby.”

“Do you ever think...do you ever think,” Frank asked quietly, “That they’re just as scared as me are? The Dracs, I mean. Do you think that our loved ones might be in there somewhere? Watching what they’re doing in horror?”

Ghoul didn’t get to hear Dewees’ reply because Fun Ghoul woke up and the voice was back. It felt like something was battering his brain with a bat so he excused himself quickly from the fire without hearing his answer and laid back down, trying to breath through the pain. It was just, sometimes Frank felt _horror_ at what he was doing, at what Leathermouth did to BL, what it did to other crews who got in their way, of what _Fun Ghoul_ let him do, but Fun Ghoul would have none of it.

Frank was weak. He couldn’t be-didn’t want to be _Frank_ ever again. _Frank_ had let his mother and his best friend die. _Frank_ was scared and pathetic. _Frank_ was a weakness. Fun Ghoul was better. He was stronger, he was what Ghoul needed to be to survive. And so what, if _Frank_ sometimes feared that Fun Ghoul was going to get rid of him, lose him inside the fragment of his mind that he’d created to help him deal with everything. Fun Ghoul was the side of him that _Frank_ hadn’t even known he had, was the side of him that seemed to take over and do things Frank had never thought he’d be able to do before he came to the desert. He didn’t exactly expect to survive his revenge plan, anyway, but he wanted to die knowing he’d _helped_ the world, not that he’d been just as bad as BL. The only time he was okay with being _Frank_ , being that weak boy who couldn’t survive on his own if he tried, was when he returned to the city with two flowers and a shitty cross to pray for his mom and Bob.

He still dreamed about it, dreamt about it that night when he was finally allowed to sleep, about that terrible day. He could still see his mom being torn apart as he watched helplessly at first, then just stood by as she reached for him, screaming and _screaming._ Worse than her death was Bob’s life. Everyone knew dying was better than being taken, being experimented on, being turned into a Drac or even worse. His mom was dead, no one could hurt her again. Bob, _Frank’s_ Bob, he was gone but there was no guarantee of a pain-free afterlife. If he was alive right now, he might as well be dead after almost four years in captivity.

So Ghoul let Fun Ghoul stay in control, kept his haze of numbness, of uncaring even as he watched Hambone become just as bad as the rest of them, start to revel in the violence against anyone weaker than him, any crew weaker than Leathermouth. He kept that numbness the first night Dewees left and Greaser got angry and used Ghoul as a punching bag, the first time Hambone purposefully triggered a panicking attack just to show the others that he could, the second time, the third time, the time he panicked too much and Greaser punched him until he was too weak to panic anymore.

He kept it a secret from Dewees as long as he could because he didn’t want to cause trouble. He didn’t want to make Greaser angry at Dewees or get angry at Hambone because Hambone was all he had left of Pencey, the last link he had to the last time he’d really been even marginally _happy_ since Bob and his mom had died. He wanted to stay with Dewees, too, because he didn’t make Ghoul _happy_ but he made him less miserable, he actually cared for Ghoul and even if that didn’t mean much to Fun Ghoul, it meant the world to Frank.

It came to a head one night, Hambone and Dewees and Ghoul alone on a recon mission. Dewees wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place but he’d started to notice the bruises that hadn’t been there when he left and seeme to multiply every time he disappeared for a few hours without Ghoul, so he’d tagged along without the input of Greaser, Hambone, or Ghoul.

Greaser had riled Hambone up before they’d left to watch the Drac camp a few miles from their own gone-dark campsite and Hambone had been increasingly antagonistic until Dewees had snapped at him to back the fuck off.

“Why the fuck should I? It’s not like you’ve known him all that long, Dewees,” Hambone snapped back, “You don’t even _know_ him, not the _real_ him. This fucking face he’s putting on is a manipulative _trick_ , man. He’s a fucking _monster_ , he doesn’t know how _feel_ anymore, he runs on revenge and a pathetic survival instinct!”

“Shut up!” Ghoul felt Frank, somewhere deep inside of him, shatter into pieces. “Shut the fuck up, Hambone, what the hell do you know!?”

“I know you’re a fucking _liar_ , you’re an unfeeling _animal_ , Fun Ghoul and that’s all you’ve ever been since you killed Tim! So why don’t you stop playing Dewees like a fucking _fool_ and just go and _die_!”

“And where would that leave you when Greaser needs your amazing bombs, _John_?” Ghoul snarled back, shoving him, “Where would that leave you when they find out you’re useless without me, huh!? Who’s gonna build you your fucking explosions? _You_!? You don’t even know how to wipe your own ass without Greaser holding your hand and you damn well don’t know how to wire _shit!_ ” He shoved him again, took advantage of Hambone’s shock that he was actually fighting back, “I didn’t kill anyone! _Tim_ killed Tim, because _Tim_ didn’t listen when I told him to be careful! No one listens until it’s too late! I wish it was _me_! Is that what you want to hear, Hambone!? I wish _I_ had died instead of him, I wish _I_ was dead, I was I didn’t have this fucking _voice_ in my head, telling me when to smile and when to laugh and when to take a _fucking breath_ in the right way to attract people, I wish I had died in the fucking Black Parade with my family, I wish I was _dead_ and the last _FUCKING_ thing I need is _you_!” He shoved at him one more time, “Shoving It! In! My! Face!”

Every word was another shove until Hambone was falling backwards and scrambling away from him, looking scared, fucking terrified, his rapid monster finally turning on him.

“Ghoul!” Dewees caught him before he fell onto Hambone in a rage and Ghoul struggled against the hold.

“I wish I had died! I wish you had just killed me! _Is that what you want_ , _Hambone_?! Is this what you _wanted_!? You want me to _feel_ something!? Here’s what I _fucking FEEL_!”

Dewees covered his mouth because he was screaming, yelling too loud, the BL camp would hear him if he got any louder, hear him and find their position, kill them all and then find their crew and kill them too. Suddenly, Frank wanted that like burning, wanted to watch the whole Leathermouth camp go up in flames.

Hambone took off as soon as Dewees had him under control, hoping onto his bike and upthrusting towards Leathermouth’s camp, away from his crazy crewmember and his new, improved handler.

“Well, that went Costa Rica real fast, huh?” Dewees mumbled when the dust cloud had faded. Ghoul shoved away from him, spit into the sand and sized Dewees up.

“What?” Dewees frowned at him, “You wanna go with me, too? What did I do?”

“What are you still doing here?” He spat at him, his whole body shaking hard enough that he could barely find the grip of his zap, just in case he was attacked, “You heard what he was saying.”

“What?” Dewees frowned even harder, “Ghoul, what the fuck. I don’t understand,”

“I’m a fucking _monster_ , Dewees,” Ghoul yelled. He’d gotten quieter but there was no mistaking his tone as anything but a yell. He wanted to scream and shout at the top of his lungs, until his throat ripped open and he choke to death on his own blood, like Tim, like his mom, like Bob, like every Drac he’d ever shot. “Everything he said was _true!_ I did pretend to be something different to get you to take me in, I’m the one with the bomb expertise, I’m the one who got Tim killed, I’m not the person you think I am, I’m a fucking killer, Dewees. I’m a killer and an animal and I can’t control myself, I can’t control myself anymore, and I’m gonna get you killed, I’m gonna get everyone fucking killed-” Ghoul’s voice cracked and gave out, hands going limp at the holster of his zap, just barely hanging on.

“Dude, calm down,” Dewees held up his hands and gave him an odd look, “Look, Ghoul. From what I’ve picked up from Hambone’s stories, Ten Rings got careless and killed himself. It’s a tragedy, but it happens every day when people don’t watch out for themselves. You couldn’t have saved him and Hambone is just angry that he couldn’t save him either. From what I gathered, your family gave their colors to save you. That’s not a waste, man. That’s fucking beautiful and I’m thankful to them. That other stuff...we’ll, you’ve never tried to kill _me_ , so I guess I don’t really care. It’s all shiny to me.”

“What…” Ghoul gaped at him, rubbed his head carefully, “Did you hear that part about the psychotic voice in my head? The one that tells me to kill everyone and how to act to get people to like me?”

“Well, that voice might need to brush up on it’s people skills because you aren’t doing so hot with Leathermouth,” Dewees advised, “They don’t seem all that into you.”

Ghoul laughed. He couldn’t help it, but Dewees was being so calm about it. Frank had literally just told them that he had a voice in his head telling him to do things and Dewees was acting like that was completely normal, like Frank was weird for thinking Fun Ghoul was weird in the first place, not because Fun Ghoul was even a thing.

“Look, Ghoul,” Dewees walked over to him, clasped his shoulder warmly, “I don’t care if you have seventeen voices in your head telling you to dress like a Crash Queen and rollerblade around,”

“I’m just insane, Dewees, not turning into Show Pony.” Ghoul protested, smiling carefully when Dewees just waved him off.

“Look, I’m just saying. I care about _you_ , Ghoul. All of you. The parts I love and the parts I don’t like and even this apparent voice in your head that tells you how to make people like you, I dunno.”

“I…” Ghoul bit his lip, “And you aren’t mad I lied to you about the bombs?”

“I figured that part out myself,” Dewees raised an eyebrow, “Man, Hambone is dumb as a brick. No way could he make such advanced explosives.”

“He’s a really good thief,” Ghoul explained, almost shyly. Fun Ghoul was exhausted. The emotional outburst had just taken all of his energy and inside Ghoul was a brief power struggle that ended too closely for him to see just who won out.

“Whatever the fuck he is, he’s a fucking douche. Just stick with me, Ghoul. We’ll make it through this together.”

“It’s Frank,” Ghoul said carefully, while Fun Ghoul couldn’t stop him. Maybe it would end up like every time before, Dewees would die or leave him or something even worse somehow, but at the very least, he deserved to know Ghoul’s name.

“Frank.” Dewees said carefully, tilted his head and thought about it, “It fits, man. My name’s James. Now come on. If Hambone doesn’t have to stick to schedule, neither do we. Greaser can thank his bitch for missing out on recon tonight.”

Ghoul laughed and silently agreed, following Dewees back to their bikes to drive back to camp.

-

Dewees was gone again when Hambone made Ghoul pay for his fit a few weeks earlier. He’d found out when Greaser and the others had been helping him out that a surefire way to make Ghoul flip the fuck out was to pin him down and choke him. He’d screamed Bob’s name once in his sleep and Hambone wasn’t above shouting it out over and over just to watch Ghoul freak out while unable to fight back until Greaser got annoyed enough to shut him up. Fun Ghoul knew that Leathermouth was his best bet to survive though, that he couldn’t just _leave_ without Dewees or Hambone at his side, so Ghoul wasn't able to do much besides take it and do what he could to recover. He spent a lot of time in his own head, staring into the darkness of that room, where _Frank_ had been relegated. When he slept, he dreamt of that room when he wasn't having nightmares. Where Fun Ghoul looked like his smiley face, all threaded lips and scarred eye, Frank looked like him as a kid, too small to hold much on his own, just a toothpick of a motorbaby, shouldn't have ever been left alone with the likes of Fun Ghoul. Every beating made Frank curl in tighter until one night, Ghoul looked in on himself and realized that Frank was _fading_ , that he was _disappearing_ , and not even Dewees starting to stick around more often or taking Ghoul with him could make him come back. Ghoul felt like a part of him was dying, a part that had been slowly wasting away since he'd first stepped through that gate alone.

Music helped, just a little. The radioman liked Ghoul and it wasn't too strange for him to let Ghoul pick and choose a track or two when he and Dewees showed up to help out or something and Fuck Machine had a soft spot for him, too. It wasn’t surprising because, even with Dewees in the know about Fun Ghoul, it didn’t stop him from whispering advice to Ghoul, telling him just how to smile, just how to joke and laugh, how to look down and blink and fold himself in to appear small and vulnerable, awaken their do-good instinct like he had with Dewees. It made Ghoul feel a little bad but it wasn’t like he was _using_ them, and what was wrong with discovering the ‘Stones or the Misfits? And he got to hear the original recording of _Come As You Are_ , even if it had made Frank cry later. He really did like them, too, especially Fuck Machine and Anonymous Witness, who coddled him like he was their own even if they was only a few years older than him.

But he wasn’t with them when Hambone tried to get even, and it was back at camp, after Greaser had gotten bored of watching Ghoul struggle and writhe and he’d taken his latest frustrations with the only crew he couldn’t get to back down from them, the fucking Killjoys or something, outon Ghoul that Hambone dropped a bag in his lap and set next to him. It was Dewees’ bag, forgotten when he’d had to run off on an emergency trading thing or something, and Ghoul already had a bad feeling in his gut.

“Dewees got a message on his communicator. I know you have the codes and Greaser wants to read it.”

“No,” Ghoul set the bag down, at his side and next to Hambone, “That’s Dewees’ stuff. I’m not gonna break into his shit for your fucked up paranoia.”

“Fucked up paranoia?” Hambone raised an eyebrow, “Please, you know he’s gonna leave soon. He probably won’t even take you with him. Knowing him, he’ll try his luck in the city. He’s been hanging with those Killjoy city slickers so much lately, he’s probably caught the smog from them and felt it in his veins.”

“Shut up,” Ghoul snapped, “Call him a city slicker again and we’re gonna have a fucking problem, asshole.”

“Just unlock the fucking communicator,” Hambone shoved him, but it was more...not friendly, but familiar than anything, less like how it was now and more like it was _before_ , before Leathermouth and the second saloon visit, before Ten Rings’ death. It made Ghoul’s head spin just a little.

 _He’s fucking with you_ , Fun Ghoul chimed in, _He wants you to do something, something you don’t want to do. You do this all the time, get all chummy with people you **hate** , just so they’ll pay a little attention to you, do what you want. Don’t be a fucking idiot, he **hates** you, why would be be friendly after just asking for a fucking favor?_

 _But maybe…_ Frank couldn’t help but mumble, _Maybe he…_

 _No maybe’s_ Fun Ghoul broke back in, _Only truths, and the truth is he’s a fucking snake just like you and he’s naturally good at this game._

“Ghoul? You paying attention?” Hambone snapped his fingers and Ghoul looked at him, blinking carefully.

“Sorry...Sorry, just thinking...What was it?”

“I was saying sorry for earlier. The guys, they’re just fucking around, you know?”

“No.” Ghoul said honestly, “You guys are dicks and I hate you all. Dewees is the only reason I’m still in this sorry crew.”

Hambone rolled his eyes, “That’s not true, Ghoul. You’re in this crew because we’re great and the only crew that would ever take a Zombie like you in.”

“I’m not a Zombie,” Ghoul poked at his fire. He only protested with bland words, no afflictions, hardly any truth in them. Ghoul thought of himself as a zombie, half the time. The other half, he wished he was. He knew he was a monster, knew it deep in his heart and soul, where his city made her home, loyal and protecting even that part of him. He knew what Leathermouth said, what Hambone said, it was all the truth, whether he like it or not. But he’d never admit that they were right, not aloud to their faces.

It was still light out but the day had been unusually cool after a sudden acid rain. He was beginning to lose interest in the conversation, more intrigued by the way the fire burnt up the fuel he’d already added than in the way Hambone was trying to charm him. He knew Fun Ghoul was right, like almost always, and ignoring Frank was just the best course of action.

“I’m just saying,” Hambone shrugged, “If Dewees was planning to leave, I thought you most of all would want to know. I know you replaced Bob with him, so-”

“Don’t say his fucking name,” Ghoul snapped at him, “Leave me the fuck alone, Hambone. Just go the fuck away!” He reached into the fire and hurled the burning material at Hambone, watching as it burnt into his own skin and hit Hambone in the face.

“Fuck!” Hambone snarled, hands coming to scrub at his eyes, “You motherfucker!”

Ghoul stood up, shouldered the bag and ignored the stinging burn of his fingers, “You just don’t fucking know when to quit,” He sneered.

Hambone flipped him off, still rubbing at the burns on his cheeks and forehead, the area in between his eyes, “I’m going to fucking _murder_ you,”

“Promises, promises,” Ghoul turned and started moving, gripping Dewees’ bag close to his chest. Nearly twenty minutes later, with an angry Greaser standing over him and Dewees’ bag spilled across the sand around them, he understood that maybe throwing burning ash into Hambone’s eyes might not have been the best of actions for him to take.

“You’re going to unlock that communicator,” Greaser said threateningly, “And you’re going to tell me where he got that message from, do you understand?”

“No,” Ghoul snapped, twisting away from his hand , “I’m so fucking sick of you and how you treat me, Hambone can fucking do it himself, if he wants it so bad.”

“Let’s try that again,” Greaser glared, pulling a pocket knife with no hesitation. It wouldn’t’ be the first time he’d cut Ghoul with it, but it would be the last if he had anything to say about it.

“If you touch me with that again, I’ll shove it into your throat,” He scrambled up, didn’t give shit that Greaser towered over him or that he was at least three times wider, “Don’t fucking test me, asshole.”

Greaser lunged and Ghoul threw himself into it, avoided the blade and slammed into Greaser’s ribs hard, took them both down. The knife went flying and they struggled. Greaser was bigger and stronger, but Ghoul was faster and knew how to throw what little weight he had around. Eventually, he landed on top and slammed his fist into Greaser’s cheek, blocked Greaser’s wild swing back, and did it again. He kept going, until Greaser’s face was bloody and his hands weren’t quite strong enough to even need to shove away. He was almost confident that he’d win this scuffle but he’d forgotten about Hambone - sometime he’d kick himself later for. He swung his fist back and he could feel Fun Ghoul bubbling under his skin, he knew this punch would do some serious damage because he wasn’t just hitting Greaser anymore, he was hitting everything, he was hitting BL and he was hitting that Drac who had brutalized his mom and he was hitting the two that had taken Bob, he was hitting the Ramones who had left him and he was hitting that truck that destroyed his life _again_ , he was hitting Leathermouth, he was hitting Hambone and Greaser and every terrible thing that had happened to him and Greaser already looked like he wasn’t quite sure which way was up and which was down. Fun Ghoul wanted to taste his blood and see what his mouth looked like without teeth.

The forgotten knife found itself pressed against Ghouls’ neck and Fun Ghoul froze.

“Get off,” Hambone said firmly.

Ghoul stood, clenched his fists hard and wiped his knuckles against his pants. He didn’t want to look at Greaser and he didn’t want to see the damage he had done.

“Here,” The knife still to his throat, Hambone shoved Dewees’ now sandy communicator at him, “Open it and find the transmission or I swear to the Sun, I will gut you teeth to dick.”

Ghoul looked at the communicator carefully, thought about if it was really worth it, staying alive.

 _Do it._ Fun Ghoul whispered sweetly into his ear, _What could they possibly do with it?_

He carefully typed in the access codes, the codes he’d seen Dewees type in hundreds of times, and the welcome screen disappeared, showing the ‘1 New Message’ notification. He taped on it and a new message opened up, sent from _Radioman_. All it said was ‘Z5-Q45’ and Ghoul read it out loud as Greaser reoriented himself.

“What’s it mean, Ghoul?” Hambone pressed the knife tighter and Ghoul felt it break the skin, bit in just enough for blood to well up.

“It means he’s moved locations again.” Ghoul bit out, “And he’s telling Dewees where the new camp is.”

“All that, just for his location?” Greaser spat into the sand, “All of this could have been just shiny if you’d just told us what was on the fucking message.”

“Fuck you,” Ghoul spat and shoved Hambone’s hand away, didn’t flinch at the feel of metal leaving his skin, disembedding from flesh but leaving a fresh wave of blood to flow out until he found something to hold against the gash until it started to clot.

They left him alone after that and another good punch from Greaser to pay him back for all the good slugs he’d gotten in their clap, and he spent the rest of his time finding and cleaning off Dewees’ stuff and fitting it all back into his bag. Dewees found him in their tent later, nursing his bruised wrists, face and ego.

“Ghoul! What happened?” Dewees hissed, moving into the tent and pulling his wrist out to look at the dark circles, “Did Greaser do this?”

“It’s fine,” Ghoul shrugged, “I punched him a lot so.”

“Damn it,” Dewees rubbed his face, “What happened?”

“They...they wanted me to unlock your communicator so they could read the message Dr. D sent to you...I think they think you plan to leave and they’re gonna find some proof before they confront you.”

“Did you, Frank? Unlock it?”

Ghoul reached up carefully and traced the thin, long line of barely scabbed over knife wound and nodded.

“I didn’t want to but Fun Ghoul-”

“It’s okay,” Dewees shook his head, “It’s okay, Frankie. It wasn’t important, just the new location. They can’t do shit with that unless they want to straight out attack him, and Greaser wouldn’t do that and risk pulling the Killjoys and Self Indulgence crew onto us. I’ll take you to his new hide out tomorrow, see if we can get this Sawbones to look at your neck.”

“It’s fine,” Ghoul shook his head, “I’ll be fine. I’m sorry.”

“Shut up, you’ll be fine,” Dewees laughed a little, “We’ll get it stitched up, it looked a little deep there. Let me wrap it so it doesn’t get infected.”

“Fine.” Ghoul shrugged and let him grab the wrap to bandage up his neck.

“So, Frankie,” Dewees mumbled as he slathered some ointment into the wound. It stung but Ghoul didn’t much notice, “Say I did decide to leave Leathermouth. Would you come with me?”

“Where would you go?” Ghoul asked quietly. It was a quiet moment, the tent nearing darkness and the two of them close together. Dewees shrugged a little, starting the wrap carefully and beginning to find it around his neck.

“Maybe the city.”

“I can’t go back there.” Ghoul gripped the material of the bottom of the tent carefully, felt the sand shifting under his hands, “I can’t go back into the city.”

“Hey, calm down,” Dewees rested his free hand on Ghoul’s shoulder for a minute, “Calm down, I was just asking. I won’t make you go into the city.”

“But you’ll still go.” Ghoul guessed, wanted to break away from the quiet, close atmosphere. Fun Ghoul was gearing up to laugh at him, but Ghoul wasn’t sure if he could handle it again. Not so soon after Hambone’s most recent betrayal.

“Let’s not talk about it for now, okay?” Dewees shook his head, “Let’s just focus on healing up your throat. We’re moving out tomorrow so after we pick a spot and settle, we’ll go to Dr. D and have one of his guys fix you up.”

Ghoul didn’t answer. It was all too much, it hurt too much for him and he just couldn’t handle it anymore, Hambone and Dewees leaving. Hambone had been right, had been right about everything. He couldn’t say it though because Dewees would just give him false promises, sayings and words that would make him feel better for the moment but weren’t true at all. He laid down, closed his eyes, and dreamt of Frank fading just a little more, until he could see the darkness _through_ him instead of just all around. He was nothing but a ball of shivering sorrow now, face hidden in his knees, arms wrapped so tightly around himself that he might as well of been a flesh colored spot, fading from Ghoul’s mind like a distant memory not important enough to stick around.

-

They always traveled with an unarmed explosive device when they changed campsites, just in case they ran into anything that looked like it needed to blow up. Ghoul had made this one last night and, he wasn’t going to lie, it was a little unstable. Even Greaser could see that so when they spotted the warehouse, looking abandoned but obviously still in use from time to time, not even Dewees saw anything wrong with stopping to get rid of it. Ghoul stayed in the van along with Dewees as long as he could, not particularly caring if they blew themselves up or not.. They were in the second van, the one that pulled their other vehicles behind them in a small trailer and was stuffed with their rations and goods, while the other van held the crew. They were parked behind the first van and weren’t exactly privy to what the plan was, so when, as they watched through the window, Greaser changed directions with the bomb, they were curious enough to get out and see what was up.

“Yo, Ghoul!” Hambone came rushing up, “We need you to set it up. It’s different from your others.”

“Because I set it up to go off if one of you set it up,” Ghoul admitted, making Dewees laugh.

“Shut up,” Hambone snapped at Dewees, “We found cars. It’s occupied but we figure taking the cars out will make them even angrier so what the fuck ever. Come on.” He snatched at Ghoul’s sleeve and Ghoul let himself be towed to the other side of the house. There were two BL/ind. Trans Ams’, customized like that of most Exterminators and Scarecrows. Ghoul wasn’t sure which group drove around in hot pink cars with baby blue BL logos, and he didn’t much care. Instead, he picked the spot that would cause the most damage, take out the cars as well as part of the warehouse, and started setting up.

“This is gonna be great.” Hambone muttered from behind Ghoul. The rest of the crew had gone back to the van and the only reason Ghoul heard Dewees approaching was because he was listening so closely for his footsteps, never liking when he was alone with Greaser and Hambone.

“Guys,” Dewees hissed, “Guys, those cars belong to the _Legacy_ , what the fuck are you doing?”

“Blowing them up,” Greaser shrugged, “It’ll be fine. They won’t even know it was us.”

“Of course they will,” Dewees groaned, but he didn’t tell Ghoul to stop, so he didn’t.

When Ghoul was done, he stood up and shrugged, “It’s done.”

They all marched quickly back to the vans and Ghoul didn’t much care if the other van got caught in the blast so he only told Dewees that they needed to move farther away. Greaser was an idiot but he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the van with the bomb expert moving away so they followed, just far enough that the blast wouldn’t damage their goods, and set back to watch as Ghoul and Dewees got out. Dewees leaned against the van while Ghoul fiddled with the detonator. Finally, Ghoul leaned next to him and pressed the button.

There was a pause between the press and when the bomb went off, like there always was. In that pause, two seconds at the longest, Ghoul always worried that he’d fucked up some how, that his bomb wouldn’t go off, that he’d have failed in the one thing he was better than anyone else at. It made the explosion that followed that pause all the sweeter.

It was a pretty controlled explosion, for Ghoul, which was why he hadn’t moved them back too much. He’d actually moved he and Dewees just far enough away in the passive aggressive hope that the other van would stop behind them and get caught in the debris being thrown back at them. It hadn’t worked out that way though so both vans were fine, much to his slight frustration, but the heat was nearly unbearable for a few seconds as both cars went _flying_. Some of his best work yet, he’d say.

“Shit,” He couldn’t help but grin, “Shit, they went so fucking high. Parts are _raining_ , Dewees.”

“It was fucking awesome,” Dewees admitted, “But we really need to go, not even joking. If they catch sight of - Someone’s coming out!” He grabbed Ghoul and started pulling him to the van, looking legitimately scared. Frank had never heard of the Legacy, or maybe he had and it just hadn’t stuck in his fucked up head, but if they scared Dewees this much, he didn’t mind leaving so soon.

Except Greaser was opening his own door and standing up in the van, using it to boost himself high enough to be seen. He waved to catch the BL operative’s attention. Ghoul looked behind him, over his shoulder and at the Drac or the Exterminator, maybe the Scarecrow, he couldn’t tell, and took in the bright pink jumpsuit, the look of fury on his pale face.

“They see us,” He mumbled, letting Dewees stuff him into the driver’s seat because he was a faster driver on bigger vehicles than Dewees and usually had a better handle on controlling the blocky van at high velocity.

He couldn’t hear what Greaser shouted, not with so much space between them and Fun Ghoul whispering in his ear about how scared Dewees looked, how something wasn’t right and it was all his fault again for fucking it up.

Whatever he yelled, it made Dewees’ face go whiter than Ghoul had ever seen, the blood draining out almost visibly.

“Oh no,” Dewees gapped, “Oh no, oh no, oh no,”

“What?” Ghoul frowned, “What did he say?”

“Hey, listen to me,” Dewees grabbed his shoulders, looking a little frantic, “I have to go, I have to go right now and I’m taking one of the bikes with me. I need you to drive. Drive as fucking fast as you possibly can, don’t worry if they can catch up, don’t worry about me. Just go, hit the red line and don’t stop running, do you understand? Greaser has just started a fucking _thing_ and it is going to go fucking Costa Rica faster than you’ve ever seen something turn into a giant clusterfuck before. If they catch up, don’t listen to a thing they say to you, understand? Not a fucking thing.”

“What’s going on?” Ghoul blinked, but Dewees was already getting a bike unchained and shoving a helmet on.

“Remember what I fucking said, Ghoul! Hop to Zone 6, somewhere around Quadrant 31 if you can. Keep your eyes on your six and your blaster ready. Go!”

He took off on the bike, in the opposite direction from what he’d told Ghoul to head in, but Ghoul trusted Dewees, so he slammed his door shut and took off. His tires squealed but the van was pretty loyal and didn’t tip or go off course, stayed steady as he shoved on the gas and it lurched forward, picking up speed at a dangerous pace. He didn’t let up, didn’t stop even when the van lights behind him flashed. He kept going, like Dewees told him to, and he continued until he reached his intended destination.

He calmly got out of the van when Greaser slammed his own door open and crossed his arms so his fingers wouldn’t wrap around his blaster. Even Fun Ghoul was growing tired of Greaser’s treatment and Ghoul was near snapping with nerves already. He didn’t know if he could resist fighting him again.

“What the _fuck_ , Ghoul? Why the fuck are we all the way out here?”

“This is where Dewees told me to go, so this is where I went.” Ghoul shrugged, taking a calming breath and feeling his whole body get looser. Greaser couldn’t fuck with him anymore, none of them could. He wasn’t going to let them anymore, not if they were going to put that look on Dewees’ face, “What did you say that made Dewees leave like that?”

“What?” Greaser frowned, then made an aggravated noise, “That fuckhead! I told them where to find the radioman. The Killjoys will get wiped out by the Legacy and so will that fucking-”

“You gave them Dr. D’s location?” Ghoul interrupted, “You gave them the location _I_ gave you?”

“That’s what I just said, yeah,” Greaser rolled his eyes, “And if Dewees wants to go up against a team of ‘crows-”

“What!?” Ghoul reeled back, “Is that who they are? You sent a fucking crew of _Scarecrows_ after Dr. Death Defying!?”

“What’s your deal?” Greaser sneered, but his face paled a little when Ghoul stepped forward and gripped his collar in his hands, “Ghoul, what the fuck?”

“You sent a crew of Scarecrows after _Dr. Death Defying_ , you fucking coyote! And now _Dewees_ has gone off to try to clean up _your mess!_ What the _fuck_ do you _fucking think_ is my _deal!?_ ”

Greaser shoved at him to get him off and Ghoul launched himself forward and onto Greaser, trying to get at his face. He was going to fucking claw his eyes out and shove them down his throat, rip his face apart with his fucking fingernails and rub sand so deep into the wounds that he’d be finding sand grains in his skin for yours and years, if he survived. He was going to kill him.

He hands moved to his blaster. He was going to finally kill him, he was going to kill all of them, every one of them and Hambone last of all so he could see just how much of a _monster_ Fun Ghoul could be, how much of a monster _he’d_ had a hand in making.

Hands grabbed at him, yanking him off, but he was beyond them now, so angry he didn’t even know what he was spitting at Greaser, just that whatever it was was making him go paler than before, a little like Dewees had looked.

“You two,” Greaser pointed at whoever had him pinned, “Hold him there and don’t let him up until we’re gone. We’re going to get Dewees to come get his shit together. If he makes a fucking move, shoot him.”

“Uh,” One of them tried to argue, but Greaser and Hambone were already moving away, the rest of the crew following them just to get away from _him_ , from their own personal desert Drac, from the _monster_.

-

By the time Dewees showed up, Ghoul had been hit enough that he was, not calmer, but not strong enough to continue his tirade. Their fingers had dug so deep and tight into his skin that when they let go, the blood rushing back in hurt like hell and made him want to curl up and sleep.

Dewees was alive though and that was something for Frank to be happy about. Dewees helped him back to the van and he drove this time while Ghoul slept, curled up tight in the seat, sandy tear tracks dry and tacky on his face.

The next month was quiet. They didn’t fuck with Ghoul anymore, but they didn’t talk to him either. The only time Hambone even looked at him was when he was telling him Greaser wanted an explosive, or they needed him to drive something fast and good. Dewees was quiet, too. He never left Ghoul alone anymore, always took him with him to see Dr. D, who had surprisingly forgiven him for giving up his location, or when he went to a meet to trade with other Tumbleweeds. He started leaving more often, to the point where Ghoul grew more used to sleeping under the stars than he did under their tent, used to riding his bike instead of in the van. It was like his first two years in the desert again, just him alone while Dewees was away. Him and Fun Ghoul. The boy in his black room was barely there anymore. Ghoul thought the only reason he was there was because Dewees was.

And then, one day, Dewees told him he wouldn’t be there anymore.

“Frankie,” He started when he returned from the bazaar. Frank had been sleeping in an abandoned gas station on and off, staring at the ceiling when he wasn’t staring at the backs of his eyelids. Now, he was alert because that voice boded badly for him and he wanted to be awake for the blow.

“What?”

“Frankie, I’m going into the city.”

Ghoul felt his throat catch for a few seconds. He swallowed past it and shrugged, “I’ll wait here.”

“Frank, I’m not coming back.” Dewees admitted, “I’m going into the city to stay. Probably for a really, really long time. I think my time in the desert has washed out. I’ve pissed the Killjoys off enough that they won’t even talk to me outside of trading, Dr. D won’t send me his location anymore because Leathermouth might try to sneak into it again. Leathermouth, itself, is on a one way course into a fucking BL made wall and I want out before it takes me down with it. And I want you out, too. Come with me, Frankie. We could start a new life in the city.”

“I can’t.” Ghoul said quietly. He shrugged a little. Fun Ghoul didn’t laugh this time. Instead, Ghoul began to shut down. He hardened his heart. Dewees was leaving. He’d be all alone again. That wasn’t new. He’d been alone for the last five years, really. There had been the Ramones, Pencey, and then Dewees, sure, but really, since the moment Bob had been dragged away and his mom...since his mom had died, he’d been alone inside. Fun Ghoul and Frank and their neverending battle inside of Ghoul’s body. “I had a life there, Dewees. It’s no life I want back. The desert is my home now. I can feel it in my veins. It’s where I belong. Even if it’s alone.”

“I thought…” Dewees sighed, looked at him sadly, “I thought that was what you’d say, so I found you a new place. It’s safe, provided you don’t be too difficult at first. They’re great guys, they’ll take care of you if you’ll let them. You could finally find a place where you really belong. You could be safe with them.”

 _I thought I was safe with you_ , Frank thought.

 _I’ll never be **safe** again,_ Fun Ghoul argued.

“I don’t need anyone.” Ghoul finally settled on, “And I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

“Exactly,” Dewees agreed, “That’s why you could be their messenger. The Killjoys are looking for someone to bring some really vital info to Dr. D. Cherry Cola’s been pixelated and they asked me if I knew anyone. Poison agreed to give you the job on a trial basis.”

“Me?” Ghoul looked at him, “Why would Dr. D trust _me_?”

“Because you’re trustworthy,” Dewees said firmly, “I trust my whole reputation on you here, my man. They’re expecting you next week.”

“When are you leaving?”

“The day you go to them. I would never leave you before I knew you were safe. I’ll keep Dr. D updated on my whereabouts in the city in case you ever decide you want to join me.”

“Unlikely,” Ghoul smiled just a little, “But thanks, Dewees.”

“It’s James, Frankie.” Dewees wrapped an arm around his shoulder and they leaned against each other, looking at the cooler area that had long been cleaned out, warmed up, and broken until it was just the bare bones frame.

“We’re leaving,” Dewees told Greaser the next week.

“You can’t leave,” Greaser laughed, “No one would take a shitty Tumbleweed traitor like you and a monster.”

“We’ll, geez,” Dewees snapped, “Looks like we’re stuck here, Ghoul.”

“...Nah,” Ghoul shook his head, “I hear the Killjoys have an opening. Think I’d be welcome?”

“Most definitely.” Dewees agreed, “And I’ve got a crew waiting for me. One I’m a little more inclined to enjoy, I think.”

“You fucking wouldn’t.” Greaser snapped, turning to Ghoul, “You? A Killjoy? Those good doers would fucking leave you out to die.”

“Better than what I got here.” Ghoul shrugged.

Greaser tried to argue again but Dewees just flipped him off and took off. Ghoul laughed and followed.

They were only a few miles away when Ghoul spotted a dust cloud following them. Even from a mile away, Ghoul knew who it was and, despite himself, he slowed to a stop.

Dewees stopped a little farther away and leaned against his bike. They waited for Hambone to catch up but Dewees was far enough to give them their privacy. Ghoul wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.

Hambone stopped his bike and kicked the stand up to let his rest. He wasn’t wearing a helmet but he had his bandana and a pair of sunglasses plastered to his face to protect his eyes, nose and mouth.

“Hambone.”

“Ghoul,” Hambone started, pulling the bandana off and shoving the glasses up. Framed like that, just the two of them again with no Greaser in the background, no Dewees at Ghoul’s side, he could almost pretend it was two years ago.

“So you’re really leaving?” He finally asked, awkward and careful.

“You wanted me gone.” Ghoul motioned, “Here I am, trying to get gone.”

“I…” Hambone shifted, “It’s gonna be weird. Not having you there.”

“You’ll have to find a new punching bag.” Ghoul agreed, “Someone as fucked up as me might not come by for awhile.”

“Shut up,” Hambone shook his head, “Just. Be serious, please. I’m never gonna see you again, am I?”

“Don’t be dramatic. Next time Greaser fucks up, they’ll have to call the Killjoys. Maybe I’ll be able to stick it out with them. Haven’t had to be a manipulative shit for awhile though, so I might fuck it up.”

Hambone flinched. Ghoul felt a little vindicated.

“I just.” Hambone tried again, “I wanted to say good luck. And goodbye. We can’t forgive each other, I know that. But...But it was good, for awhile, wasn’t it? You and me?”

“Yeah,” Ghoul agreed slowly, “Yeah it was. But we can’t forgive each other. So I’m sorry about what happened with Pencey. I’m sorry I couldn’t save Ten Rings. I’m sorry I let it all slip between my fingers because I was too scared to be myself with you guys.”

“I’m sorry I changed,” Hambone said quietly, “I’m sorry I did those things to you. I’m sorry I made you into a monster.”

“I was always a monster,” Ghoul shrugged, “You just didn't let me hide it.”

‘No you weren’t.” Hambone shook his head, “You were...you were different, yeah. But I made you like you are now. I exclude you from Pencey because I was so angry that you’d gotten to be there with Rings and I hadn’t. I was angry that you weren’t grieving like the rest of us. I was angry that you shut down when I couldn’t, and I was angry that you could turn your smile on like it was a fucking trick you learned. I was a fucking shit to you because I was angry that you still managed to be something great, while I was still grieving over Pencey. And I let them fuck with you like I did because I liked that I had that power over you. That I knew the real you, the one underneath all of your armor. What I did can’t be forgiven, and I can’t ever forgive you for Pencey because you were the first one to leave, really. Maybe we could have survived if you hadn’t checked out, I dunno. I’ll never know, and that’s what makes me angriest of all. So good fucking luck, Fun Ghoul. Maybe I’ll see you again one day.”

They met half way in a strong, angry hug, the kind where the other person is everywhere around you, your bodies pressed together, but it isn’t comforting in the lease. Frank would always love Pencey, would always love Hambone, but Fun Ghoul was unforgiving and merciless.

When they broke apart, Hambone’s eyes were wet. Ghoul didn’t bother trying to figure out what his face was doing.

“Goodbye, John.”

“Goodbye, Ghoul.” Hambone nodded at him, turned back to his bike. They rode in opposite directions and neither looked back. Their past was in the past and there was nothing they could do to bring it back ever again.

-

They lived in a dusty, abandoned diner. It was kind of dingy but it fit their imagine, he thought. Bright, open for a shelter. He liked it, in an off brand sort of way.

“Hello?” He called once Dewees had dropped him off. They’d made their goodbyes before leaving their camp from the night before, so they wouldn’t have to do it in front of the Killjoys no doubt highly secured headquarters.

“Hello…?” A curious voice called from inside the diner. A bushy head of hair popped out of the door and Ghoul recognized the feature from when Dr. D had explained to him over Dewees’ communicator just who he’d be working for and what to expect from them.

“You’re Jet Star, right?”

“Right,” Jet Star agreed, leaving the diner to smile wide and friendly at him, “I take it you’re Fun Ghoul?”

“Yeah,” Ghoul agreed, “I’m here about the job Dewees asked about?”

“Yeah, just come with me. I’m gonna interview you, you know how it is. We’re pretty protective of our information, since we work so hard for it and we didn’t want to just hand it off, even on Dewees’ recommendation.”

“Understandable.” Ghoul agreed.

 _Quiet, not too friendly, something you can keep up for awhile_ Fun Ghoul whispered into his head.

Ghoul shot Jet Star a careful, quick smile when he noticed his own smile, but kept his eyes on the ground when he wasn’t looking at Jet Star. He’d pulled his bandana down in the diner but he could already tell it was going to be time for his medicine soon, with the sand settling on every surface of the diner it could reach, and even on some it shouldn’t have been able to.

“So, tell me about yourself,” Jet Star opened, “I wanna know whatever you wanna tell me. No pressure.”

“Um…” Ghoul paused, calculated just how much he wanted to give. He didn’t want to look directly at Jet Star, in case he had some sort of person-reading power and could spot just how full of shit Ghoul was, so he set and stared at the table like he was thinking. Really, he was counting to when he thought it would be appropriate for an abused, ex-Leathermouth victim to speak.

“I’m from the city,” He said for sympathy points, “My family died in the BPR,” he continued because he knew they’d been involved in that, something Dewees had mentioned, “I was Leathermouth’s punching bag for awhile but Dewees left and he protected me, and with him gone, I’d be fair game and I was scared they’d kill me. So I left.” Vaguely true, mildly exaggerated, sympathy gained, judging by the breath Jet Star let out. Now sell it with some thinly veiled low self esteem and begging, “I can make bombs, too. If that’s what you want. I can learn fast, whatever you want me to. I can try real hard to be a great asset.” His voice had gone flat by the end because it was beginning to feel too real, too much like he really _was_ begging to be let into their crew. He didn’t want that. He’d rather be alone again than because another crew’s scapegoat for when things went wrong.

“Thanks, man, but we’re not really that kind of crew, usually. Just a messenger for now,” Jet Star nodded, “But if sometime comes up, I’ll definitely come to you about it. You seem fine to me, we’re from the BPR too, so maybe we knew each other for awhile? The only thing is, you’ll have to talk to Kobra. He isn’t a big fan because of that thing with the Legacy last month, you know how some guys can get about stuff like that. He just wanted to see you for himself before we introduced you to Poison.”

“That’s fine,” Ghoul shrugged, because what else was he supposed to do?

Jet Star left him, disappeared into the back of the diner for a few minutes, before a tall, skinny man replaced him.

He was quiet. Not in the way Ghoul was quiet, calculated silence to best worm his way into people’s good graces, but naturally quiet in the way some people were. People who could get what they needed to across without faking something or using too many words.

He looked at Ghoul for awhile and Ghoul didn’t want to look directly at him either for an entirely different reason. Ghoul had given that location away. It had been his fault that the radioman had almost died, his fault that the Killjoys and Dewees had almost had to fight Legacy, and he knew that Kobra Kid knew it.

“So you left?” Kobra finally asked. His voice was deeper than Ghoul had thought it would be, in the same way that Jet Star’s had been higher. He assumed Poison’s would be just right, like in the story about the three BL Operatives and the golden haired Ritalin Rat.

“Yeah,” He agreed. He needed to stick to whatever he picked with Jet Star but for some reason, he felt like even more than Jet Star’s obvious ability to read people, Kobra would see right through him and into the rotten out core that was really Ghou. “Leathermouth wasn’t working out for me. Without Dewees, I don’t think I would have lived much longer.”

“What makes you think we want you here?” Kobra asked, a little harshly. Ghoul shrugged.

“Because I’m at the table and not dead in the sand.”

They both went quiet again and Ghoul set his arms on the table slowly, just to see if Kobra would snap at him for making himself comfortable. Instead, Kobra took interest in his tattoos. He’d been massing his collection since the first one in the bazaar the day of the rebellion. His next had been a pumpkin with a carved face and the lyrics to one of his favorite songs. His arms were mostly covered, as were parts of his chest, legs and stomach, hips and back. Ghoul liked art, liked the pain of the needle and the soreness in the aftermath and he liked that no one could do anything about them once they were there. He’d had his hair chopped at and fucked with enough in fights to know that if he did anything other than just let it be, it wouldn’t last long, so he’d turned to show his loyalty to the desert culture by decorating his skin in colors instead.

“I’m going to be watching you.” Kobra finally said, but the underlying anger was gone, “And I’m going to see every mistake you make and judge you for it. You’re not out of the trial period until _I_ say, no matter what Jet Star and Poison tell you. Got it?”

“Got it.” Ghoul agreed. He might have had Jet Star fooled, but Kobra was gonna be a lot harder to convince.

“Come on, then.” Kobra stood, “Let’s go introduce you to Poison.”

If they were gonna be walking anywhere, Ghoul didn’t want to choke and die before he’d even met the infamous Party Poison, so he pulled his bandana back over his mouth and nose to help him breath. He’d have to pick up some more pills at the bazaar when he got the chance, otherwise he’d probably end up having an attack on his bike and crash, information and all, right into BL’s hands.

“Okay.” Kobra said when he’d walked into the back room. It must have been an answer to some question that hadn’t been asked out loud because Jet Star and the new guy both made _good, okay_ sounds.

While Ghoul was looking around, Kobra introduced their leader without fanfare; “This is Party Poison.”

“We’ll leave you guys to talk and patrol a little while you fill him in and set him up.” Jet Star explained, patting Poison’s shoulder. The two of them walked past Ghoul without saying anything, but he didn’t feel like he was being ignored either.

“So you’re the infamous Fun Ghoul, huh?” Poison stood up to walk over. That voice made Ghoul’s head ring. Somewhere, deep in his mind, in a pitch black room, _Frank_ looked up and felt something bloom.

Ghoul snapped his eyes back to Poison, barely heard the “What...Shrimp!?” from Poison because all he could think was, “Greasy!”

“You’re Fun Ghoul!? You’re alive!?”

“ _You’re_ Party Poison.” Of course he was Party Poison. Greasy had never been one to sit back once he had what he wanted. He would have climbed as high as he could go. He wouldn’t have been pleased that he’d just gotten out of the city, he would have wanted to continue climbing. Until he and his crew - Afro Motherfucker with a bigger, darker head of hair and Skinny-Ass filling out until he wasn’t just a wire string bean but a tall, thin man with _muscle_ and shit - had become leading members of the rebellion against BL. Of _course_ he was Party Poison. He never would have settled for anything less.

“Shit,” Greasy - Poison - said, stepping closer. He touched Ghoul’s cheek carefully and Ghoul couldn’t help but let his eyes flutter a little, nothing to do with Fun Ghoul in his ear, yelling that this could be his new Dewees. He didn’t want a new Dewees. He just wanted Poison. He’d forgotten just how much he missed him, how much comfort just seeing him had brought Ghoul when he’d just been _Frank_ and not some fusion of two different people in one head.

“Fuck, I can’t believe it’s you…”

His eyes flashed, with regret, with fondness, with a tenderness Ghoul had never seen in anyone’s eyes before, but the thing Fun Ghoul focused on was the _want_ , the _lust_. Poison was going to be his safety net.

Without thinking, Ghoul leaned up on his toes and kissed him.

He’d been too innocent as a kid to imagine kissing Greasy. He’d imagined sitting with him, talking and playing music, holding hands in one embarrassing dream, but anything else had been gross at the time. Lovey and stupid. Now, Greasy was different and so was Ghoul. Ghoul wasn’t _Frank_ anymore, but while Fun Ghoul wanted Ghoul to play into Poison’s hands like a perfect doll, like a fucking parasite, Frank practically begged to just be allowed this one thing. Greasy had always been _Frank’s_ , the one thing that he and Fun Ghoul didn’t share, and Poison would be no different in this situation. Just this one thing, Frank wouldn’t let Fun Ghoul take from him.

The kiss was hard and dirty and led to Ghoul teasing Poison into pinning him to the wall.

 _Let him think he’s in charge, here. He needs to stay interested and every guy likes a good fuck, so you’d better hope you’re a fucking natural, kid._ Fun Ghoul echoed in his ear.

Ghoul tried to block him out but he still found himself yielding where he wanted to fight back just a little, giving in when he could have lasted a little longer, rubbing where he wanted to squeeze and moaning when he wanted to kiss Poison until his mouth matched his eyes.

Ghoul had never had sex before. He’d gotten off with people, quickies in Hyper Thrust and fast make outs with grinding knees and wandering hands in dark corners, but he’d never let anyone fuck him before or even let anyone close enough to _be_ fucked. He lost his virginity in the dingy, abandoned diner on a flat mattress (which, really, wasn’t something to complain about because he’d never slept on a mattress before anyway), knees bent to his ears, stringy firetruck red hair framing Poison’s tanned face, brushing Ghoul’s cheeks as he gasped out loud and long with every almost-gentle arch of Poison’s hips into his body - mostly because he liked making noise but also because Poison obviously _liked_ it when he made noise and he could never escape Fun Ghoul’s voice, not even in a situation like this. His orgasm overcame him first, and he couldn’t help but clench his eyes, dig his nails into Poison’s back and let his vision go dark, like he could hide his own peaking from Poison just from closing his own eyes. They rocked together for awhile longer, slowly coming down from the intensity until Poison finally dropped, carefully, onto him and Ghoul stared at the ceiling over his shoulder for a few seconds, felt the warring in him between Fun Ghoul’s smugness and Frank’s unhappiness that he’d had sex with the only person he’d ever loved romantically and Fun Ghoul had used it to try to dig his way into a crew.

Instead of focusing anymore on the war in his head, he nuzzled into Poison’s shoulder, relaxed into Poison’s soft neck kisses, the way he brushed his lips against his pulse line and the way he rubbed at the muscles in Ghouls’ thighs and hips, like he knew they’d be sore and was doing his part to help. They were gentle and teasing and tender and Frank wanted to bask in it, in being with Poison again after so long. Fun Ghoul wanted to make sure they stayed tender and fond because fondness meant protection.

“I-I...I should go,” Ghoul shuddered out. He needed to leave, figure himself out, just try to understand what was happening inside of him.

“Don’t.” Poison mumbled, kissing him again, “Don’t leave again.” Ghoul almost wanted to argue, but Poison continued with; “I’m fucking sorry I left you in the first place. I never should have done that.”

Ghoul would have tensed, had his body not been so aggressively relaxed, “Can we-” he tried to get out, “Can we not?”

“Okay,” He agreed immediately, nodding against Ghoul’s skin, “Yeah, okay, we won’t. But don’t leave, okay? Not yet.”

Ghoul didn’t know how to answer. He needed to leave, before he did something he’d regret, before he did something _Poison_ would regret if he ever found out about Fun Ghoul, but...He hooked his heels in Poison’s legs, pressed up so they were together again and kissed him until they could go again. Rationally, outside of Fun Ghoul and Frank and whatever mixture of the two Ghoul was on any given day, he knew he should have been ashamed of falling into bed with someone he’d met literally ten minutes earlier, but it was _Greasy_ , it was Party Poison, it was the last connection he had to his mom and Bob (both teasing him mercilessly for his crush) and it was the first time he’d ever felt safe in his life since his family had died. Dewees had been right, saying that he wanted Ghoul to be safe. He probably hadn’t imagined that _safe_ would be wrapped around Party Poison’s long, tanned body in a dark back room on a burnt up mattress, but to each their own.

Ghoul and Poison finally pulled themselves apart when it was nearing sundown. Ghoul had a lot of riding to do and now he’d have to do it with a sore ass and a feeling that Poison was _missing_ from him and they were expecting him so he really did need to go. He wasn’t even going to think about the dreams he’d have tonight, the shitstorm that this episode was going to cause between Frank and Fun Ghoul. He wasn’t embarrassed, really, when they had to walk past Kobra and Jet Star and he _knew_ they’d heard, but it wasn’t exactly his proudest moment either. Poison didn’t seem to give a single fuck. He actually kind of looked a little _too_ happy. Who knew getting laid could put a smile like that on his face?

Poison led him out to where a bike was waiting, built for speed and stealth, sitting next to their iconic Trans Am. Ghoul would have been jealous of it, had he had any care for cars.

“Here, this is yours. It goes pretty fast and it’s pretty sensitive, so…”

Ghoul rolled his eyes, because he wasn’t bleu, but he couldn’t help smiling a little. It was kind of cute, the way Poison wasn’t quite sure just what to do with him now that he’d fucked him six ways to Sunday and was sending him off to a mutual friends. “I’ll be careful, Poison. Seriously.”

“I just, sorry,” Poison ruffled his hair and Ghoul’s mouth went a little dry.The red hair really worked for him and even Fun Ghoul’s voice was drown out just a little. “I know I’m being really intense, and it’s probably creeping you the fuck out, but it’s just...it’s like a second chance, I dunno. I left you, man, and I shouldn’t have. I regretted it the second I turned around, but I was too fucking stupid to see that. I’m so fucking sorry, I just,”

Maybe five years ago, this would have rocked Ghoul’s world. He imagined that he probably wouldn’t have turned out quite like he had if he’d been with the Killjoys from the get-go, but just like with Hambone, any anger he had with Greasy for abandoning him was gone with the past.

“Hey,” He shoved his shoulder, looking him over, “We’re here now, right? Maybe you were supposed to have that second chance. But I don’t like being controlled, I sure as fuck don’t like being babied and I like my space. Okay? I’m pretty fucking calm right now, but I’m also pretty fucking sure it’s shock and ‘well-fucked’ dulling everything.” That, and the fact that Poison was doing a great job of attaching _himself_ to Ghoul without any effort on Fun Ghoul’s part and it had shut the voice up for the time being.

“Yeah, I understand!” He rubbed his face, “And usually, I hate those things too! I’m not like this, I swear!” He paused, then sighed, “Shit, okay, here,”

He handed Ghoul a bundle, papers and a hard disk wrapped in cloth, the information he’d be transporting apparently, “Here, you know where Dr. D is?”

He probably shouldn’t, but Dewees had given him the location earlier that day.

“Yeah. Get this to him, stay there the night, drive around tomorrow for awhile, come back and repeat, right?”

Poison nodded, “You got it. And if you run into trouble?”

“Bend it, break it, swallow it. Destroy it.” Ghoul droned teasingly, just to see Poison’s quick smile. It had been a long time since he’d done something just to see someone smile. Poison’s still managed to make his stomach flutter teasingly.

“It comes down to you or it, you drop it and run. Don’t lose your life over this, got it? Nothing is as important as a life.”

That hit him a little too hard for comfort, so he didn’t respond. Instead, he swung his leg over the bike and fixed the information into his jacket so it wouldn’t get lost. He didn’t want to leave on that note though, because that was just asking for something shitty to happen.

“You know, Leathermouth wasn’t anything like that.”

He turned the bike on, listened to it purr between his legs like a fucking kitten. He sort of wanted to take it apart just to see what they’d done to make it so perfect.

“We’re nothing like Leathermouth,” Poison said unnecessarily, coughed and crossed his arms, “Now go, you’re expecting you in two hours.”

Ghoul tested the bike’s balance, got used to her turns and the quirks apparent just from sitting on her. He was gearing to take off when Poison caught his attention with a soft, almost weak, “Be safe.”

Ghoul wasn’t sure what to say to that but, for once, Fun Ghoul and Frank were in agreement on what he should _do_ , so he reached over and pulled Poison back to him. He kissed him hard, tried not to let everything _Frank_ was feeling bleed into it. “Don’t fucking leave, okay? I swear to God, I just found you again, don’t you dare,”

“No,” Poison agreed, leaning down to kiss him all soft and careful like he was _fragile_ , “We’ll be here.”

“Whatever,” Ghoul muttered, trying to keep his cheeks from flushing like he was _ten_ again. He still pushed Poison away so he wouldn’t get fucked up by the bike. He took off before Poison could say anything else because he already felt like his heart was going to burst.

Two hours passed in silence, both inside and out. It was a little scary, to not have Fun Ghoul berating him for his actions or Frank calling weakly from wherever he’d been shoved into that day. It was almost like Party Poison’s appearance, _Greasy’s_ reappearance, had silenced them, if only for the moment. Ghoul wasn’t sure how to feel about that. As much as he hated Fun Ghoul, his voice was the only reason Ghoul - _Frank_ \- had made it as far had he had. He’d been there, visible and audible, since the first day he’d found himself alone in the desert, and to have him gone, to have him completely silent, it was unnerving and off putting. In the same manner, it was like _Frank_ , who hadn’t had much say in anything since the time of Pencey Prep and Tim’s death, had found the key, like he’d finally found something that was worth standing up to Fun Ghoul again. Ghoul wasn’t meant to be alone because Ghoul was neither Fun Ghoul, nor Frank, but a mixture of the two, and to be completely alone in his head, to be able to think about Poison’s smile without Fun Ghoul’s insistence that he do whatever he fucking had to to keep that smile there and without Frank’s insistence of the same thing for entirely different reasons made him shakier than he would have liked.

By the time he made it to Dr. D’s, he was a mess. He handed off the information, probably not nearly as important as anyone had made it out to be, not really, and let Fuck Machine and Anonymous Witness make him fake hot chocolate and coddle him just a little, just to see if Fun Ghoul or Frank would say anything. Finally, he retired to the small, private tent they’d given to him for the night. He was used to Dewees or Hambone with him so sleep didn’t come naturally for a few hours after he’d put out his fire, but when it did, he almost wish he hadn’t.

He _woke up_ in the dark room, like he did after any event that had a profound impact on him.

 _Frank’s_ figure, still small and balled in the dark, barely there, was just a little bit more visible than before. Ghoul didn’t know _how_ he knew, because it wasn’t a _visible_ change, but he _knew_ and it made some place in him warm. What didn’t make him feel better was Fun Ghoul, standing over Frank, staring Ghoul down.

“He’s going to leave you. Die, kick you out, run away, leave, go back to the city, turn on you, whatever choice you wana go with, he’s going to fucking leave you and I’ll be left to pick up the pieces.”

“He’s worth it,” Frank mumbled, “He’s going to do something. I don’t know what, but he’s going to be _great_. He’s going to make _us_ great. He’s going to make _us_ a _me_.”

“No one can do that,” Fun Ghoul rolled his eyes, “We’re _fractured_ , Frank. We’re not the same _person_ anymore, we just happen to share a brain.”

“This is so confusing,” Ghoul mumbled, “Am I even real?”

“Yes, you’re real,” Fun Ghoul snapped, “We’re all real, don’t be so fucking _dramatic_ , does this look like a soap opera to you? Frankie here couldn’t survive on his own, so he made _me_ , but then he wanted to play a game of takes backs, fucking lost and gave it back to me then tried to play again, so _you_ were born. You’re _us_ , we’re all _the same_ , but we’re _different_. Do you get it?”

“Just don’t leave me alone. I don’t care if I don’t get it,” Ghoul said weakly, “I can’t do this alone anymore.”

“You won’t _be_ alone, anymore.” Frank shook his head, “Just don’t fuck it up with him.”

“ _How_?” Ghoul snapped at him, “You always say just _follow your heart_ and stupid _shit_ like that, but all it ever does is _hurt_ , Frank! I’ve - _We’ve_ lost _everyone_ we’ve _ever_ cared about, why is _he_ so different!? Why is he worth it all over again!?”

“Because he is.” Frank shrugged. He hadn’t moved from his ball, his eyes just barely peeking above his arm. He looked fucking pathetic and Ghoul couldn’t understand what about Poison had made him start to _come back_. Frank was _weak_ , Frank was _useless_ and for all that Ghoul hated Fun Ghoul, he never wanted to be _Frank_ again, either. But somehow, fucking _somehow_ , Frank had an ability that both Fun Ghoul and Ghoul had lost and that was the ability to hope that it would be _different_ this time, if he would only try.

-

Zone 4 had a raid the next day and Ghoul stuck around to help Dr. D and his crew pack up, safely traverse the new war zone, and set back up in Zone 2. He stayed the night again after asking that the radioman send Poison a message over the waves that the information had made it safely but the _messenger_ had been held up. He left mid morning, but still didn’t manage to make it back to the diner until nightfall due to an unfortunate firefight with a few Dracs and an ongoing clap with the survivors that lasted hours until he’d managed to take the last of them out and drive around a little to make sure he didn’t lead them back to the diner.

Poison, surprisingly, met him outside and kissed him against the bike until Ghoul’s head was too fuzzy to hear anything. They fucked again, but this time Poison led Ghoul through the steps of _fucking_ instead of _being fucked_ and it was just as great as last time. It was almost _too_ intense, left him feeling tired and sore and out of it until he’d slept for hours next to Poison afterwards. Whatever part of him that had thought endearing himself to Poison would be a task of difficulty had not accounted for Poison’s own clinging nature. Ghoul had called the two of them _unhealthy_ in a thought once and then spent six minutes laughing because since when had he ever done anything the _healthy_ way? Ghoul knew that Poison regretted leaving him behind that day and Fun Ghoul would be lying if he said he didn’t abuse the fuck out of that guilt. He’d do anything if it meant sticking with the Killjoys because the Killjoys, more than any other crew in the desert, meant safety and protection from not only BL but Leathermouth, who no doubt were going to be after him eventually when they wanted bombs but couldn’t make do with Hambone, and other crews that he had fucked over in his even angrier days with Hambone.

Poison seemed to genuinely _like_ him and that freaked him out a lot, when he thought about it, because what Poison liked Ghoul could never be sure wasn’t just an _act_. He liked that Ghoul was smaller but marginally stronger than him, liked that he could somehow make Ghoul flush with just a word or touch, and those things Ghoul knew were real. But he liked that Ghoul could make him laugh, this high pitched fucking giggle that always sent Ghoul’s heart racing and he liked that Ghoul was willing to talk in the darkness of the night, but those things...those things, Ghoul just didn’t know if they were _him_ , or Fun Ghoul.

It wasn’t long before Ghoul found himself in a pattern. One he didn’t mind, all that much.

Poison had dragged the mattress into the old freezer in the back of the diner, a small off shoot room just big enough for the mattress and the two of them to curl up together, three high shelves and a basically sound proof door. Poison had left the blankets for Kobra and Jet Star to use since he’d taken the mattress but they never complained to Ghoul about it so he didn’t notice much, especially since he had his own they could use. It had been hard to comprehend at first, that Poison would create a space just for _them_ , not even just to fuck but to talk to each other, like he _cared_ what Ghoul had been doing since they’d last seen each other.

“Tell me about anything,” Poison asked one night, a couple weeks into their new arrangement.

Ghoul blinked at him, just barely able to make out his features, small teeth and pixie nose and pretty, shiny eyes. “Tell you about anything?”

“A story about your life in the desert. How has my home treated you?”

“With tough love,” Ghoul smiled a little. He didn’t want to think about any of that, though. “I’ll tell you about the first time Dewees tried to show me how to wire a bomb.”

“Dewees taught you?” Poison asked, “I didn’t know that was a skill of his.”

“I-it isn’t,” Ghoul said smoothly, shrugging.

 _You almost fucked up and it’s only been three weeks,_ Fun Ghoul snapped, his first noise since Ghoul had let Poison lead him into the freezer. Ghoul scrambled in his head for _something_ to say, “It’s just kind of a thing he dabbled in. My-”

His throat caught. He couldn’t finish his words for a few second. He swallowed when Poison rubbed his thigh gently.

“My mom was real good at it, taught me some things. I learned for myself but Dewees thought he could show me a thing or two.”

“Good old Dewees,” Poison laughed. Ghoul mentally relaxed.

“Yeah, so we were in the back of Leathermouth’s van, right? And the others are kind of pissed at me for something or another,” It might have been the Drac he’d lead directly into camp while they were sleeping, but he wasn’t gonna mention that, “So Dewees and I are all alone in one corner and the others are just kind of glaring at me, and he pulls out this little square covered in wires and tells me he wants me to practice. So I put it down because I know what it’s gonna do when I’m finished even if he doesn’t, and I’m kind of pissed at them too, so I set it and press the button.”

“Holy shit,” Poison grinned against Ghoul’s sweaty shoulder, “You’re real confident, aren’t you, doll? Setting off a bomb in the van, I mean.”

“It was more burn-y up-y than explode-y,” Ghoul shrugged, “And it burnt a hole straight through the bottom of the van. Filled the whole thing up with dust and dirt.”

Poison laughed again, a little harder than before and Ghoul felt a little bit proud of that.

“Tell me about you and Poetic Tragedy,” He asked, instead of giving Poison enough time to ask for another story. He didn’t have many happy ones and he wanted to stretch them out as long as they’d last, hopefully long enough that Poison wouldn’t realize Ghoul was a strange coyote in a familiar sheep’s clothing before it was too late.

“Well…” Poison started, voice still amused and warm.

Ghoul just settled into his arms and listened, trying to breath through the panic in his gut that this could all end in the click of a blaster. Fun Ghoul wasn’t sure where he needed to go because at every turn he made to keep Poison close, Poison was already there, already clinging where Fun Ghoul had told Ghoul to cling. Frank grew more visible every time Ghoul went to the dark room in his dreams. Maybe Party Poison really was a poison. Ghoul couldn’t find it in himself to care. Sometimes Ghoul, very much against Fun Ghoul’s near snarling _advice_ , pushed at his limits, just to see if he could. Just to see if Poison would put up with an attitude if it meant he got to keep Ghoul in his bed. If Poison said something out of line or maybe made a plan that was a little too irrational, Ghoul would call him out or tell him he was gonna get himself killed with that plan or this action. The first time Jet Star had given him a surprised look and Kobra had opened his mouth to snap at him but Poison, calm as ever, had just agreed - like he hadn’t even noticed that Ghoul had purposely just butted into private crew matters to give his opinion. Ghoul wondered if the shock had shown on his face. He tried it again a few days later and it had gotten the same lack of reaction - like Poison actually _thought_ about what Ghoul was saying and saw his point. Kobra might not have been too happy about it but it was almost like Poison respected Ghoul. It made Fun Ghoul caution because not even Dewees had trusted Ghoul when it came to fights and crew related plans, because of his inexperience in the matter, maybe. It just made Frank want to preen.

For all that Ghoul was working out with Poison, he still got the cold shoulder from Kobra and the indifferent shoulder from Jet Star. It didn’t sting and it didn’t bother him, but it would make it hard for Poison to really bring him in if Kobra went on hating him and Jet Star continued ignoring him, but he wasn’t quite sure how to get into their good graces. Both of them would see right through any of Fun Ghoul’s tricks and Ghoul hadn’t actually tried to make _friends_ since he’d first met Bob.

He should have seen it coming, anyway. Poison wasn’t the kind of guy to let anything get in his way when he wanted something and he obviously wanted Ghoul, so he really should have seen it coming but he hadn’t expected it so soon.

Ghoul was still shuddering from orgasm, muscles in his thighs still tensing and relaxing against Poison’s hips and his fingers still digging into the skin of Poison’s shoulders and side when Poison kissed him hard and bit his lip, gasped into his mouth and froze in place. They stayed pressed together for as long as was comfortable before Poison had to roll over so they wouldn’t fuse together with sweat and come and Ghoul didn’t really think about it, just rolled over with him and buried his face in his pale chest. Poison had really apparent tan lines, not like Ghoul’s naturally darker skin. Poison was fucking peach pale under his clothes and Ghoul liked to spray his hands out against his stomach and just look at the contrast, the way Poison’s pale skin made his own scarred hands look beautiful.

“Hey,” Poison pressed his lips to Ghoul’s hair and Ghoul nuzzled into his chest, waited for him to continue.

“Hey,” he responded when Poison didn’t.

Poison didn’t say anything for a few seconds longer and it felt like that pause between detonator and the explosion, tension heightening in the room fast and hard. It almost had the hair on his head standing on end when Poison finally said, a little loud and a lot confident, “Be a Killjoy.”

His heart skipped a beat, then another one, and another and Ghoul thought he was going to have a heart attack until his chest kicked into overdrive and his heart was suddenly pounding, “What?”

This was exactly what he wanted. This was exactly what he’d been gunning for since the first time he got on his tip toes and slammed their mouths together until Poison had lost all reason and this was exactly what Fun Ghoul had been goading him into getting from Poison since Dewees had left. _Be a Killjoy_ was everything Ghoul needed to live.

But somehow, thinking that Poison had asked him because he was an easy lay, because he was familiar and Poison liked him a little, it hurt him almost more than Hambone had.

He pulled away and frowned at him, “Dude, you’ve barely known me for a month and you’re inviting me into your crew? You don’t even know my name. Did you ask Kobra Kid and Jet Star?” And on shit, what if he hadn’t and Ghoul accepted and had to deal with Kobra ending the trial period with a resounding no? No amount of tail in the world would make Poison argue with Kobra if Kobra really didn’t like him.

“You remember who my old crew is, right?” What if Poison had just fucking _forgotten_ that Ghoul was from Leathermouth, that Leathermouth might be fucking after him for deserting, that he’d given away an important piece of information that had almost got Dr. D killed? That had almost gotten Poison’s crew killed?

Poison set up on his arm and reached with his other, touched his cheek like he had the first time they’d met since the Black Parade, “I’ve known you forever.”

He was fucking _serious_ , so serious that Ghoul almost wanted to laugh. Instead, his cheeks flushed red, “Y-You saw me a few times when I was a kid, years ago. You don’t _know_ me.”

He didn’t and he _never_ could, because Ghoul was a monster for all that he forgot sometimes, when he was with Poison. _Ghoul_ wasn’t even _real_ , not like Frank had been, not like Fun Ghoul wanted to be. For all that Fun Ghoul was yelling at him to just _go with it_ , to say yes, for all that _Frank_ was yelling for him to say yes, Ghoul couldn’t. He couldn’t.

“I want to.” Poison said softly, pressing until Ghoul slid back into his arms, pressed his face into Ghoul’s hair and continued, “I want to know you. I don’t know what it is, but I know you were meant to be here here. With me. With us.”

Ghoul pressed his face against his chest and breathed, tried to get past all of the noise in his head, “I-I’ll think about it. No promises, Poison!”

Poison smiled, Ghoul closed his eyes and tried to keep his breathing. He needn’t have worried because Poison moved over him again to kiss him hard and he didn’t have to focus on how he was breathing, his head falling blessedly silent.

He left the next morning, fucked loose but more sore than usual from the desperation that had been in both of them, and with new information for Dr. D. He needed to think so he slowed when he was out of Zone 6. It would be a at least three hours before he made it to Zone 3 because he wasn’t Dewees and this wasn’t a van to be thrown around on the sands but he didn’t know if three hours was even enough time to untangle his head.

On one hand, this was such a bad idea that _he_ wanted to blast himself, let alone what Fun Ghoul wanted to do. He’d done this with Pencey, even with Leathermouth, before he’d realized that he’d gotten into bed with the wrong head honcho, and this was going to end just like they had.

Maybe the Fabulous Killjoys didn’t bomb stations or attack Scarecrows but they did things just as dangerous as Pencey _or_ Leathermouth; drag races with Dracs, kidnapping Exterminators and extracting every ounce of information from them that they could before they killed them. Jet Star and Kobra hacked into private BL frequencies, Kobra straight up stole shit right out from under their noses. Party Poison fucked taunted BL - Korse especially - with his body. He used himself as bait at every opportunity, swaggered back and forth in the most sexual way he could manage, hips cocked, bedroom eyes locked on the enemy, one hand on his hip and the other on the trigger of his zap and aimed right between the eyes. Worse of all, he’d make that shot, and that was what made it so fucking dangerous. Like Dewees had said, Ten Rings had died because he was too fucking confident in himself, in his crew. Poison took that confidence to the extreme. To him, there was no goal too large for his crew to achieve and if he wanted that to continue, he wouldn’t want fucking Ghoul in it. Ghoul was bad fucking luck and the only reason he had even survived this long was because he was fucked in the head enough to _want_ to survive after everything he’d been through and the rabbit charm around his neck.

On the other hand, and even worse than Poison’s overconfidence, was that Ghoul felt the same way Poison did. He felt like he _belonged_ , in a way that not even Frank understood. Even with Jet Star’s awkward silences and Kobra’s icy stares that intensified every time he caught sight of a bite mark or a hickey on either of them, Ghoul felt like he was carefully slotting - inch by careful, slow inch - into a placement that had been _waiting_ for him.

More than his childhood crush, more than his attraction, he and Poison had something that was scary and new and not something Ghoul had ever imagined he could have. He felt _safe_ with the Killjoys, _safe_ with Poison, and for all that he knew _safe_ was as fragile as as the human body, he almost didn’t want to fight against it.

 _He isn’t **safe** ,_ Fun Ghoul muttered, _He’s after **something** , and even if he isn’t, this isn’t going to end in rainbows for you. He’ll **die** or he’ll leave you, there’s no **happy ending** to this._

 _But he’s worth it._ Frank protested, _What’s the worst that could happen, Fun Ghoul? If Poison’s gone one day, I’ll be gone with him, and that means it’ll just be you. Isn’t that what you wanted?_

 _Just shut up and **listen to me**_ Fun Ghoul snapped, _Whatever **game** he’s playing, don’t fall for it, because all it is is a **game**._

Ghoul didn’t know what to think and he didn’t know what to say when he returned so he just shoved it from his mind and tried to let the silence of the desert echo in his head instead of the voices.

When he came back the next night, Poison wasn’t there to greet him.

 _Shit,_ Fun Ghoul said smugly, _It’s already starting._

“Shut up,” Ghoul snapped under his breath, his fingers clenching against the handlebars of the bike. He spent a little more time than usual dismounting and refused to admit that he was giving Poison more time to come out, to prove Fun Ghoul wrong.

Finally, with nothing else to do, he braced himself and walked inside. Poison was on the other side of the main room, meaning that he must have heard Ghoul coming and just hadn’t come out to meet him. But he was still smiling, bright and fond, when he caught sight of him. He motioned for him to come over, holding up what looked like a tablet with writing on it, like he’d been reading, so Ghoul started to head his way.

“Hey, Ghoul,” Jet Star mumbled distractedly. Ghoul tripped just a little, not sure if he’d heard right. He turned to ask if Jet Star had said something to him but Kobra was looking at him over all of the parts and wires set out in front of he and Jet Star.

“Nice ride?” Kobra deadpanned. Ghoul checked for any trap, any underlying anger or displeasure. Kobra, of any of them, was who he was most careful of because he had never forgotten their first conversation. His trial period wasn’t over yet and until it was, there was no way he could ever really be a Killjoy, no matter what Poison might have wanted.

“Yeah,” Ghoul nodded, when Fun Ghoul finally yelled loud enough for him to notice the _crack a fucking **joke** you idiot!_, “Great scenery. Real diverse.”

Thankfully, Kobra laughed and looked back down. Ghoul tried not to show how tense his shoulders had gotten under his direct stare.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard after all, to get their approval. Not that he wanted their approval.

“Hey,” Poison smiled at him when Ghoul finally walked over, “Everything go according to plan?”

“Yep,” Ghoul agreed, leaning up instead of stopping so he could kiss him. For once, maybe he could belong for real.

-

 _Fuck_ Party Poison. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, “Fuck him!” Ghoul snarled as soon as he was out of sight. He pulled over half hazardly and threw his bag to the ground, kicked at the sand until the futility of it frustrated him even more and he had to stop.

 _You should have just gone with it_ , Fun Ghoul chastised, _What was the point of getting angry? You could have just blown everything you’ve been working for for months now and for what? Some hurt **feelings?**_

“Shut up!” Ghoul snarled out loud, “Shut up! I don’t fucking need this from _you_ too!”

 _What don’t you need?_ Fun Ghoul laughed, and it filled his head, _You don’t need the truth? What? You don’t need **me**? Don’t fucking kid yourself, you’re dead without me, no matter what **Party Poison** thinks. Or thought, now that you fucked it up._

Ghoul went quiet and buried his face in his hands, pressed his palms to his eyes and ignored that they came away wet.

He put his bag back on, got back on the bike and drove an hour to Dr. D’s without a single thought.

He felt like like he was in a constant state of post-detonator-pre-explosion, like he’d done everything perfectly but it wasn’t going like it was supposed to. He and Poison weren’t supposed to fight because Poison had the advantage every time. Without Ghoul, Poison still had his crew, his home, still had everything he’d had before Ghoul. Without Poison, Ghoul had nothing again. He’d be alone, no crew, no supplies, no job, no home. Dewees was gone, even Dr. D was Poison’s more than he was Ghoul’s, no way would Jet Star and Kobra continue to associate with him, no matter how faux friendly they were being - and he had his suspicions that that was all Poison’s influence rather than their own initiative.

He should have kept his mouth shut. He’d dealt with false blame before, he’d done it all the time in Leathermouth and Poison had just been _saying_ shit. Ghoul was used to beatings to go along with it so, really, Ghoul _would_ be at fault if Poison decided he’d had enough of Ghoul’s baggage, because he’d over reacted. It had just hurt, coming from Poison. He’d expected it to happen at some point, from Jet Star or Kobra especially, but he’d not thought to expect Poison of it.

Frank was silent.

“Ghoul?” Witness opened the entrance to the shack and frowned, “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No,” Ghoul shook his head and pulled the package out of his bag. It, luckily, hadn’t been damaged in his rampage. Probably because it was actually important and Ghoul was _trying_ to be a better monster than he’d been before.

“It’s early,” She took it and gave him a considering look, “Come inside for awhile, baby. You look a mess.”

“Thanks,” He said sarcastically, but he followed her anyway and she gave him a tissue to wipe the sand from his face and definitely not the tear tracks because he hadn’t been fucking _crying_ like _Frank_ would have.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“We got in a fight.” He mumbled before he could stop himself. Maybe talking to someone not in his own head would put some perspective on it. If someone else told him he was wrong, he’d go back and apologize. Probably beg if he had to. He didn’t _want_ to, though. He wanted Poison to hurt to, to feel _bad_ for blaming Ghoul, for _worry_. To show that this intensity Ghoul felt for him wasn’t all one-sided.

“Was he a fuckhead?” She frowned, “Because I’ll go over there and punch him for you.”

Ghoul laughed a little, just imagining Anonymous Witness stomping into the diner and punching Poison. She was small but she could do some damage, or she wouldn’t be one of Dr. D’s body guards. “Thanks, but no. I’m just being a bitch. I just wanted to leave for awhile. I’ll go back soon.”

“Why don’t you hang with Machine and I? We’re gonna take over for the night, play a little new stuff Dewees sent us from the inside.”

“Dewees sent you music?” He hadn’t gotten word from Dewees since he’d left for the city and the thought of him, safe, made his heart beat just a little harder.

“And a letter, actually.” Witness stood from the little table she’d set them at and walked over to a draw, ruffling through it before she pulled two thin pieces of paper out and handed them to him.

Dewees’ scrawl was unfamiliar because Ghoul had never had to read anything he’d written before outside of a text. Paper was expensive, desert or city, and it almost touched Ghoul that Dewees had written something for _him_ instead of just sending something on a communicator. Poison was making Ghoul soft.

In his letter, Dewees told Ghoul about how he had settled down with a new crew, one he was leading a little more democratically than Leathermouth had been, and they had made it their top mission to ferry as many people out of the city as they could who wanted to leave. He talked about a faction in the city who had helped him out, about a kid he’d met who seemed to have almost as many problems as Ghoul did (followed by _haha I wish you could see how hard I’m laughing, Frankie_ , much to Ghoul’s amusement). He wrote about the rent-a-ments and not for the first time Ghoul’s fingers itched for the strings of a guitar under them, or even the grips of two good sticks and a drumset. More than he wanted to listen to good music, he wanted to _play_ it, to feel it in his hands, his arms, his body, in his fucking _soul_ , in a place that nothing but string and a drum beat could reach, the place that only good lyrics could touch. The other page had nothing on it and Witness mentioned that she thought it was a sheet for Ghoul to respond on and send back so Ghoul took the grease pencil she gave him and set for a few hours, carefully composing a letter to Dewees. He didn’t know what to say, in case this was the last letter he ever got or sent and there was so much to tell him about. Eventually, he told him about Poison and their weird relationship upgrade, how he made Fun Ghoul go quiet sometimes, how confused he made Ghoul. He told him about Jet Star and how sometimes he’d let Ghoul sit and watch him fiddle with his gadgets, how they’d talk about the music they remembered back in Battery and how Kobra seemed to be warming up to him just a little, like how he’d told Ghoul that he would be helping him re-bleach his hair as soon as Dr. D found them a lead on some quality stuff. He didn’t tell him about the fight or how those things might have been happening because of Poison’s influences. When he was done, he gave the paper to Witness and she folded it into an envelope and set it aside to send with their next Tumbleweed headed for the city.

Ghoul did spend the night in the end, up late and talking with Witness and Fuck Machine, arguing over who had the best voice, the best words, who could play bass better than anyone else (other than Machine, of course, who was queen of the bass as well as the desert) and exactly what constituted rock and roll. Dr. D came out once or twice but he was sick with a resurgence of his VMAs so he spent most of the night in his make shift room, sleeping or listening to his own collection.

The next day, he woke up late and didn’t mind. He wasn’t angry anymore, all that was left was a simmering hurt, but he knew he’d have to get over it eventually, go back to the diner and face Poison’s wrath if he was angry or his guilt if he was regretful. Either way, he needed to go back.

“You can always come back,” Fuck Machine hugged him, “Sometimes Poison doesn’t realize how good he’s got it until you kick him in the ass.”

“I guess,” Ghoul shrugged but, really, _he_ needed to remember how good he had it the next time he wanted to be uppity and upset about something he’d been dealing with for years now.

“Drive safe,” Witness said, “There’s gonna be an acid rain soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to make it.” Ghoul shrugged, “Otherwise neither of us will have to worry about a fight again.”

It was a morbid joke but they all laughed anyway because morbid was better than no joke when it came to Ghoul.

-

He wasn’t fast enough to beat out the rain but he’d only been hit a few times before he found some flimsy shelter, an abandoned building which had been recently vacated. He set there for awhile, thinking on Dewees’ letter, what he’d written in response and how much he missed Dewees when he let himself think about it. Fun Ghoul didn’t argue because, really, what could it hurt to miss Dewees? Even if he died, Ghoul would never know. He didn’t think he’d be getting letters often, or even that he’d be getting another one at all since that one had probably just been Dewees making sure Ghoul had been able to hold the job he’d set up for him, and he missed a lot of things - Dewees the least painful of them all.

When the rain let up and the purple clouds had passed over his location, he made sure none of the rain had made it to his skin and continued towards the diner.

It came into view soon enough, maybe a little sooner than usual because Ghoul wanted to see Poison again for all that he was still hurt.

And Poison was there, waiting for him like he usually did when he heard his bike approaching.

Ghoul wasn’t sure what he expected but it wasn’t for hands to find his face even before his bike had completely stopped and lips to find his own through his bandana, for kisses that held more ferocity than a firefight on the Getaway Mile. Whatever was happening, he much preferred it to the yelling from before, so he ripped the bandana away and didn’t hesitate to kiss back when Poison just pressed more onto his lips again.

“I was so fucking scare you’d left, you giant fucking asshole!” Ghoul tried to pull away because if Poison was going to name-call again, maybe this wasn’t as finished as he’d hoped it was, but when his hands found Poison’s waist, he was shivering, shaking almost too hard to get a grip on and the rest of his words registered, “I was so fucking scared you’d died and I’d never get to tell you-”

Poison kissed him again. Ghoul tasted tears. He wrapped his arms around Poison’s waist and pulled him closer, rubbing him from shoulder to hips slowly, “I...Poison, I…”

He wasn’t sure what to say, he didn’t know how to react to Poison’s tears. He’d never thought _he_ could…

 _It’s a trick_ , Fun Ghoul growled, _It’s a trick and-_

 _It **isn’t** ,_ Frank cut in, _We caused that. **Look** at him, Fun Ghoul. That’s no trick._

“You really…you cared that much? That something had happened to me?”

“Of course I did, you idiot!” Poison snapped back before the whole question had even left Ghoul’s lips, fingers twisting through Ghoul’s hair to drag him back into another tearstained kidd, “What kind of question is that!?”

“I-I just…” Ghoul carefully moved his hands up Poison’s body, felt the tremors that _he_ had caused. He knew it shouldn’t have been something that made his stomach twist in what he could only think of as _happiness_ , warped beyond recognition for most but unfamiliar enough in him to be easily placed, but _he_ had caused those tears. Poison had actually _cared_ what happened to Ghoul. No trick, no illusions - just Poison, there, _crying_ for _Ghoul._

He slowly laced his fingers into Poison’s hair, gripped it tight for just a second and felt no resistance when he pulled Poison into a kiss, sweet and soft like he’d never kissed anyone before, “ _You’re_ an idiot, Poison. I’m not going anywhere. K-Killjoy for life, right?”

 _What are you doing!?_ Fun Ghoul yelled, raging inside of him like a monster.

 _I’m doing what **I** want._ Ghoul thought, quiet but cutting all others off.

“You,” Poison laughed and it was sobby, all wet and tearful and so was the kiss but Ghoul couldn’t mind even a little, “You stickin’ around? For real?”

Ghoul felt a smile on his face, probably some stupid, soft thing he couldn’t control, “Yeah...yeah, I think I found something to keep my fancy for awhile.”

Much to Ghoul's pleasure, Poison flushed pink.

He squeezed Ghoul, pulled until he was off the bike and right where he wanted to be, pressed against him.

"You can't leave angry anymore, okay? We-We have to talk it out, o-or just go to another part of the diner or something but just, don't..."

"I get it." Ghoul said slowly, nodding. And he did get it. Poison actually cared about him. He actually cared about Ghoul, that Ghoul might have been hurt while he was away, that they’d fought the last time they’d seen each other. Poison _did_ regret blaming Ghoul for something that wasn’t his fault.

“I won’t leave like that again, okay? I’m real fuckin’ sorry, Poison.” And he was. He was sorry he’d made Poison worry so much, sorry that until then he’d doubted that Poison really cared for him. Ghoul was sorry for much in his life, had a lot to be sorry for, and he realized that a new thing to add to his list had formed - for how hard he’d been fighting against Poison without even realizing it, that he’d ever doubted Frank’s hope.

“Okay. Yeah, okay. I’m sorry, too.” Poison pressed another kiss to Ghoul’s skin, his forehead, his cheeks, “Come inside with me.”

“Yeah,” Ghoul agreed, a little dazed. His head was whirling with thoughts not entirely Fun Ghoul’s, not even entirely Frank’s, but mostly his own. Poison led him inside by his fingertips.

“You’re back,” Jet Star grinned up at him from where he was putting together some parts for what looked to be a radio, “Safe trip?”

“Sorry I took the bike,” Ghoul mumbled, feeling a little awkward. Would they be mad at him for getting angry with Poison and making him so upset?

“No problem,” Star shrugged, “Take it anytime when Poison’s being a dick.”

“Jet Star!” Poison protested but Kobra flapped a leg from where they were hanging over the end of the only booth seat to wave his cry away.

“If you’re gonna be a jerk, you gotta deal with the consequences.” Kobra agreed, “So don’t be a jerk again and he won’t have to take the bike, now will he?”

“Shut up.” Poison muttered, taking a firmer grip of Ghoul’s hand and tugging him along a little more insistently.

Ghoul tried to keep the smile off his face before he lost all the cred he’d picked up.

They laid in the freezer, pretending it was dark outside and not the middle of the day, curled up together and just breathing. Poison didn’t try to take his clothes off and Ghoul didn’t feel like he needed to perform, to put on a show or try to screw Poison’s brains out to keep him interested. Instead, he let Poison curl around him and run his fingers through Ghoul’s wind blown hair until it was mostly untangled and straight again.

“I’m sorry,” Poison said again, “I shouldn’t have blamed you. You weren’t even there and I’m sorry I took my frustrations out on you. That was real fucking shitty of me and I apologize.”

“It’s okay,” Ghoul mumbled, “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset. I’ve been blamed before for shit I didn’t do and you’re the least violent person I’ve ever been with.”

“And that fucking _sucks_ , Ghoul,” Poison cursed, rubbing his back through the thin shirt he still wore. They’d striped off their jackets and shoes because the freezer, despite its name, could get pretty hot in the daytime since it retained whatever temperature was against its only outside wall. “I don’t want to ever remind you of Leathermouth, or any of the shitty people who hurt you.”

“You don’t,” Ghoul shook his head, sitting up on his arms, “You don’t, Poison. You’re...you’re different from anything I’ve ever had before. You make me...make me _feel_ strange and I don’t know what to do about it.” He admitted. He was feeling vulnerable in this dark, small space with Poison, Fun Ghoul and Frank and everything in his head that wasn’t purely _Ghoul_ quiet and he wanted to come clean about everything, about what happened in his head, about what being with him entailed, what Poison would have to deal with if he kept letting Ghoul fall for him, it all wanted to come out and for the first time, Ghoul _wanted_ it to, wanted someone to know everything about him and still feel the same about him as they had before.

“I want...I want to tell you everything, but I’m so fucking scared, Poison. I’m really fucking scared that I’ll tell you and you’ll think I’m-I’m a monster like everyone else does, or you’ll think I’m fucking crazy and I _am_ , I’m _both_ of those things but you-you act like you don’t see that, you act like I’m normal, like I’m-”

“Like you’re beautiful,” Poison leaned up, kissed him again, kissed him like he meant every word of what he wasn’t saying.

“You make me feel like I’m not as bad as I know I am. Like I’m not as crazy as everyone would say I am...Like I can tell you anything and you’ll listen and still...still feel about me the way I feel about you. But I’m so fucking scared I’m wrong, Poison. I’m so _fucking_ scared of losing you and I don’t even know when it happened but I’m terrified.”

“So tell me.” Poison pressed his lips to Ghoul’s neck, his hand found his hip and rubbed the bared skin there with gentle fingers, “Tell me and let me show you that I will be here when you’re done.”

Ghoul felt a fear in himself that he had never felt before, the kind of fear that made him want to overcome and beat it out of himself. So he settled, pressed against Poison’s chest with his strong arms around him, and told him. He told him everything, from Bob to the bazaar and the Ramones, to Pencey, through his and Hambone’s partnership and into his stay with Leathermouth. Looking back on it, with all of his walls bare and stripped to the bone for Poison, it was hard to talk about, hard to put into words how it had felt to be betrayed by the last of the makeshift family he had, to feel like he’d killed Ten Rings even though he knew he hadn’t, how much it fucked with him to feel like Poison was someone he wanted to be with even though he knew it wouldn’t end well because things for him _never_ ended well. He told Poison about Fun Ghoul, the vicious voice in his head, the thing that took over when it was too much for Ghoul. He told him about Frank, without naming names because his name was the last thing he had left, the last defense he had against whatever this was between them and he wasn’t ready yet, not just yet, to give it up.

In the end, when he was done and he was crying tears he’d been holding back since he was thir-fucking-teen, when he was so wrung out that he wasn’t sure he could move, that his body shook uncontrollably and his voice could barely hold steady for long enough to let him finish his story, Poison was still there, holding him tighter than ever and pressing gentle kisses to his hot face.

-

Kobra Kid and Jet Star had been gone for a really long time. Almost a full day, but he wasn’t going to open his mouth about it if Poison wasn’t going to first.

 _It’s just a routine run_ , he thought to himself and ignored Fun Ghoul’s scoff.

 _It’s just a routine run,_ he repeated when night had fallen and their was still no word.

“We should go looking for them.” Poison repeated back for the fourth time in the last hour.

“Poison, we don’t know where they went,” Ghoul pointed out, “Where should we start?”

“The way they were supposed to go,” Poison decided.

Ghoul was a little skeptical, but he didn’t mind driving up and down anywhere looking for the missing half of their crew.

“Okay,” He agreed, “Why don’t you go get the car started. I’ll pack some medical supplies just in case.”

“And some food and water,” Poison nodded, “We might be gone awhile.”

“Got it.” Ghoul agreed. Dr. D was playing softly in the background, some chill city music Dewees had sent with his last letter to Ghoul by some up and comer faction or another and Ghoul let it soothe his nerves while he packed a bag. Something, probably Fun Ghoul’s quiet whispering, was telling him something was wrong and whatever they found outside was not going to be pretty.

The roar of an approaching set of bikes caught his attention and he finished packing the bag quickly, slung it over his shoulder and walked outside as the familiar figures of Fuck Machine and Anonymous Witness were dismounting and making their way to Poison. Poison stood firm, frozen against the outline of the Trans Am, lit up by the single light they used when they needed to see at night. It wasn’t overly bright because they didn’t want to catch anyone’s attention with it but it was enough to cast shadows on all four of them, enough to show the grim looks on their faces. Ghoul felt his stomach drop and he let the bag fall in the sand, hurried over to them.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, because there was no way it was anything happy with those looks. Kobra and Jet Star’s absences were all the more apparent.

“Ghoul...Poison, there’s something...We found something. We’re so...we’re so sorry, Poison.”

“No,” Poison barely got out, but Fuck Machine held her hand out. In her fist was a string and swinging from each side was a helmet. One was dark, a few spots of yellow and red, a single blue button, while the other was bright yellow, accented lines that gave the abstract expression of a smiling face and white block letters spelling out _Good Luck_ on the visor. They were both roughed up, scuffed and cracked and bloody.

“We found them, along with the wreckage of two bikes and a few Drac corpses. We’re sorry, Poison, but it looks like-”

“Don’t,” Poison snapped, “It isn’t true, it’s not possible.”

“Poison,” Machine said softly, “We’re so sorry.”

“It isn’t true!” Poison yelled, “It isn’t true and if you say it one more time I’m going to fucking shoot you!”

Her face shattered just a little so Ghoul stepped forward, took the helmets from her slowly.

“Thanks, for these.” He mumbled, “It might be better if you…”

“Yeah,” Machine agreed quietly, “There’s gonna be a raid next week, real extensive. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” He agreed quietly because he was sorry too. If what these helmets implied was true, the next few weeks would be hard, raid or no.

They left immediately after because Poison was beginning to shake and whatever was about to happen, Ghoul wanted everyone else gone. When even their dust clouds had disappeared towards Zone 5, Ghoul moved to the Trans Am. He opened the door and carefully set the helmets in the back seat, shut the door, counted each action slowly and carefully in his head. He didn’t want to go under, to disappear behind the grief he knew he could feel if he let himself but he didn’t want to delve deep inside and let Fun Ghoul take over, let Poison handle this all alone, either. Ghoul knew what it was like to lose his whole family in one swoop, knew what it was to have someone he loved be alive and have the opposite be true the next second and he couldn’t imagine letting Poison go through that pain alone like he did.

“Poison,” He finally said when the silence had gotten to be too much. He stepped into that space, the space that _needed_ to be filled by someone and cupped Poison’s face with his hands and repeated his name again, held him together as best he could when Poison broke.

His wail was heartbreaking. Ghoul hadn’t heard a sound that pain-filled since the city, since he’d lost his life in the span of twenty seconds. Now Poison was losing everything like Ghoul had and Ghoul had a front row seat to it. The tears hadn’t been unexpected and, usually, tears were something one tried to avoid in the desert because the loss of moisture and salt was hard to replenish with the water rations one usually had access to, but Fun Ghoul helpfully reminded him that with Star and Kobra gone, they had plenty of water. Frank’s intense, shocked anger shut Fun Ghoul down but Ghoul couldn’t even fane amusement in his numbed state. He was grateful, though, that he hadn’t integrated yet, hadn’t gotten to _know_ Jet Star and Kobra Kid like he knew Poison and was even more fiercely grateful that Poison hadn’t been with them, as selfish and terrible a thought it was. He could handle losing Jet Star and Kobra, and maybe it wouldn’t be pleasant but he was sure that eventually he wouldn’t even feel sad that they were gone, but he knew deep inside that he’d gotten too close to Poison, that once Poison was gone, _Ghoul_ would disappear as well.

He hadn’t known them well for all that he lived with them. Jet Star still had trouble making conversation with him, not sure where Ghoul was on the social ladder of their crew, and Ghoul still hadn’t decided if Kobra was an ex-lover or an over-protective brother, but he did know that he had a severe distrust for Ghoul. Despite that, they had both been good guys, people he could have eventually come to like, maybe eventually gotten to like _him_. But it was too late for that now, too late for second thoughts and _could have beens_ and with the way Poison was screaming he’d bring down every Exterminator in Zone 6 if Ghoul didn’t stop him.

 _Get out of here,_ Fun Ghoul murmured, _You need to leave before the predators smell the pray. He’s a wounded rabbit and you’ll go down with him when he baits the snake,_

 _Shut up_ , Ghoul snapped, shoved the thought from his head, and pulled Poison to him, towards the empty, dingy diner. Poison put up a fight the whole time, like he wasn’t even sure what was happening anymore, just gone with grief. Ghoul dragged him into their freezer, yanked him down onto the mattress piled with ratty blankets and flattened, ripped pillows and locked his arms around Poison before he tried to go looking for them himself. Poison fought back, harder, and Ghoul knew, knew what it was like to feel like if he just fought harder, tried _harder_ , they’d be back, if he just could be a little more. He tangled one hand in Poison’s knotted crimson hair and pressed his tear-stained, crying-red face to his collar, felt the tears sink into his skin as Poison finally gave up and sobbed into him, clung and squeezed and shook with them. Ghoul lost track of time after a while, holding Poison’s shaking form until he passed out. He didn’t stop crying, not even in sleep, and all Ghoul could do was run his fingers through his hair, gently untangle the neon blood strands to try and relax the tension from his body even a little. Eventually he must have fallen asleep because he woke what felt like hours later. Poison was still there, clinging tighter than before, the misery plain on his face like the dust cloud of a bike in the sand even in sleep. They didn’t speak all day, only got up to use the restroom and grab some water. They finished the first bottle together at Ghoul’s insistence because he wouldn’t make Poison eat anything yet (knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it down) but he would make him keep his hydration levels healthy. They slept all through the night, deep into the next day and got up to repeat the routine from the day before. While Poison was in the bathroom, Ghoul grabbed a few pieces of bread and some more water because he and Poison would both have to eat soon and he wouldn’t let Poison waste away just yet. Poison didn’t argue, looked at the bread with red, bloodshot eyes for a few minutes before he ate without complaint and finished a bottle of water Ghoul handed to him. They went back to sleep.

At some point, his inner clock estimating the middle of the night, Ghoul woke up to Poison’s steady stare, a hand on his hip and a desperate “Take me out of my head,” enough to coarse him into Poison’s game. They fucked hard, intense and painful for both of them, until Poison was crying again and Ghoul was close to joining him.

“It’s Gerard.” Poison mumbled into the stifling coldness of the room after he’d caught his breath and curled into Frank’s chest. “I would have told you sooner but sometimes I forget that I have a name that isn’t Party Poison. Sometimes I forget that I’m not invincible.”

 _I never forget,_ Ghoul wanted to respond. Instead, he let Fun Ghoul’s ever less certain _You’re in too fucking deep, get out now, don’t trust him, don’t get anymore attached, you know what happens when you-_ wash over him just long enough to feel Frank’s satisfaction when he said, “Frank. Not as pretty as _Gerard_ but it’s the name I was born with. From my dad and my grandfather.”

“Frank.” Gerard tasted on his tongue and Frank breathed with it, let it fill him, erase the fear and the doubt still nesting in his stomach.

When Gerard rolled back on top of him, it was softer but no less intense. Frank kissed him, over and over and over until the dust of the desert outside and the salt of the tears had disappeared for a few minutes.

It continued like that for days longer, sleep and silence and fucking except for when Frank made them leave the freezer to find food and water. Frank mourned in his own way, much less emotionally than Gerard did but still there. Losing Jet Star and Kobra, it didn’t hurt like losing Bob and his mom had. That was a personal blow, had ripped a bloody wound in him that would never heal properly, would never stop bleeding. It didn’t even hurt like losing Ten Rings and Pencey had, a burn on his soul that still ached no matter how much sun protection he slathered on. It was more like scraping the scab off of a barely healed gash, the blood leaking sluggishly, not gushing but apparently there, and an ever present ache that he knew would go away if he could endure the sting now, if he could wait for his body to become accustomed to it, and then indifferent to it. For all that Fun Ghoul talked a big game, even he had slowly become comfortable in their indifferent existence to each other.

It did sting though, in the way it so obviously ripped Gerard apart, in the way that he couldn't even look at their work table, hadn't touched the Trans Am since that night, could barely _breathe_ outside of the freezer, a space Jet Star and Kobra had never been in before. And it stung a little harder when Frank would look over their work, from before they’d left on that fucking mission. Kobra had come up with a new weapon, a glove with a keypad and programmable attacks. He’d gotten the circuitry worked out and he and Jet Star had been building up the circuit board for the keypad, a metal plated glove already sitting on the table, like Kobra was going to come back any time to finish it up and try it out on some Drac ass to see if it worked. Their tools were scattered about and Frank almost wanted to pick up for them because he knew Jet Star didn’t like when the tools were all over the place. He also didn’t want to touch anything, in case Gerard got the nerve to look it over, see what they were working on one last time before it was put away for the last time.

Eventually, Gerard would talk in the dark. The pitch blackness of the freezer had always been a safe place, never light unless they brought one in and never too small, no matter how close they got to each other.

The first night, half asleep though he’d been, the sound of a soft intake, the kind of breathe Gerard took before he spoke, brought him wide awake.

“His name was Mikey.” Gerard seemed to settle on after a few minutes, “He was three years younger than me and for a long time, he was the only thing I lived for. Being in the city fucked me up. I wasn’t meant for a place like that, I needed big space and color and the Sand and Sun on my skin and in my hair and I gave up for a long time. I was a Ritalin Rat, barely better than a zombie, and Mikey was my motivation to get out of that, to protect him and Ray. He’s my world, Frankie. What do I do? What did you do when your whole world collapsed around you?”

“I fucked myself up,” Frank said honestly, “I did it _wrong_ , Gee, and I need you to promise me that you won’t do what I did. Don’t hide behind that mask because once you do, you forget who you were without it.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” Gerard shifted, found one of Frank’s hands and squeezed, “I don’t know what to do anymore. It just hurts _so much_.”

Frank just kissed his forehead and listened to his uneven breathe as he fell asleep.

The next night was the same intake, the same careful few minutes before Gerard actually started speaking.

“Ray was my best friend. We grew up together, before Mikey was born, and we were always together after he was born. His dad saved us when BL massacred Jersey. Our two families had been together for generation upon generation, since before BL some of them said. We were always supposed to be together. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do, Frank.”

Just like the night before and every night after, Frank kissed his forehead and tried to think of _some way_ he could make something that could never, ever be better, better.

As the week came to a close, Ghoul started packing. He hadn’t forgotten the tip off that came with the tragic news Machine and Witness had delivered and while he wanted Poison to have as long as he needed, he knew that BL wouldn’t wait for grief’s passing, not even Party fucking Poison’s. He made Poison smile every once in awhile, a weak, watery one that was a bare shadow of his true smile, but it was a smile none the less so Ghoul didn’t hesitate to tell Poison about any weird shit he’d seen when he traveled with Pencey and Leathermouth, anything he thought might amuse Poison even a little bit. All the time, he would pack a little more into the Trans Am, set up their get away for when it was time to go, for when the alarm went up.

And finally, eleven days after the news that broke the unbreakable Poison Poison was delivered, Dr. D came alive with a warning, “Look Aliiiive, Sunshine!” and Zone 6 was being invaded. There must have been a tip off because the radioman slipped in a special warning for the last of the Killjoys, a warning that meant broken birds needed to fly before broken turned into dead.

Ghoul didn’t waste anymore time. He packed the last of their supplies, carefully places Jet Star and Kobra’s tools and project into their toolbox and transported that to the car, and went to find his wayward Killjoy.

He was in what was once a kitchen, gutted of everything but holes where the dishwasher and stove once set and some doorless cabinets. Ghoul remembered that this had been where Kobra and he had been before the call had gone up for an information retrieval and Kobra and Jet Star had left. The last room he’d seen his brother alive in. Ghoul spotted Poison after a few seconds of looking, sitting in the spot where the fridge had been once upon a time.

“It’s all packed up, Poison. We need to get going before the going gets us.”

“Beta-Bugs scattering?” Poison asked vaguely, sounding weird and off center, more than he usually did nowadays.

“Pigs are coming this way,” Ghoul agreed, “We need to jet.”

“I can’t go, Ghoul.” Poison admitted, “I’m not leaving.” His voice went flat and hard, like the rocks scattered along the sand outside.

“Fuck that, Poison! We need to go because if they find us here, we’re boxed in and we aren’t gettin’ back out.”

“Then leave. Take the stuff, I don’t care. I’m not leaving.” Ghoul almost reeled, the words stinging like Poison had hit him, “I have to be here if they-” Poison’s voice caught, throat working around the words he couldn’t voice until he leaned his head against the wall to stare at the ceiling.

“God damn it, they aren’t coming back! We’ve been here a week and we should have cleared out days ago!” Ghoul wanted to throw his hands in the air but he pressed his gloved palms - dusty, bare fingers cracked and rough from sand, wind, and heavy living - against his pants and took a breath to control himself.

Poison didn’t react to his words and Ghoul didn’t know what to do for a long few seconds. Eventually he dropped to his knees in front of him and pressed his hands to Poison’s knees, curling the digits into his jeans.

“Poison. Gee. We _can’t_ stay here. _You_ can’t stay here. They wouldn’t want that for you. Caught in some God forsaken building by a bunch of Dracs, taken out without a fight. That’s not the guy they gave their colors for. That’s not the person I fucking love, okay? They might be gone, but you can’t just _give up_. That’s exactly what BL wants you to do, that’s exactly what _Korse_ wants you to do. Would you want either of them to go out like that if it’d been reversed? What kind of death is this, baby?”

Gerard’s eyes closed again, dark circles for all the sleep he’d been getting still under his lids, “Frank...Frankie, I _can’t._ What if...Just, that little chance...If there’s even a _possibility_ , I couldn’t live with myself if they came here and I’d run away because of some fucking _raid_ ,”

 _Leave him_ , Fun Ghoul nearly cried into his ear. He could _feel_ BL getting closer with every minute that they set there, no matter how impossible it seemed. If he got caught here, it would all be for nothing, all the _pain_ and the _shit_ Ghoul had gone through to get to this point in his life, on his knees and begging for the last person that meant anything to him to just stay _alive_ for a little longer. With the supplies the Killjoys’ had been able to stockpile, he’d be set for at least three months on his own. A nice Trans Am with Killjoy recognition would scare off any would-be thief, food and water enough for a month to feed four people (and he was small, he only ate and drank half as much as Jet Star had, Fun Ghoul reminded him), and all on his lonesome. He could fight, no Dracs were stupid enough to go after the _Killjoys_ on their own. He could survive if he just _left_.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave, couldn’t even make himself if he tried. He knew if he left, if he turned his back on Poison, on _Gerard_ , he’d never be able to close his eyes without seeing Gerard’s face, that bright crimson hair just brushing against his dye-marked jawline because he was clumsy with the red and his crooked mouth and small fucking teeth, his big hazel eyes, gold in the sun and liquid silver in the dark. He’d never be able to touch another person again, not even a brush of skin against skin, without feeling Gerard’s under his, peach pale under his clothes, warm brown in the exposed places and so fucking rough where sand and wind could reach, only to be soft and bruise-easy where his clothes protected him. He’d never be able to unsee that cocky swing to his hips when he was in a mood, he’d never be able to un-love that sassy tilt to his whole body when he had some smart ass comeback and wasn’t afraid to share it.

Fun Ghoul, for all that he wanted to leave more than almost anything, didn’t argue. Because the thing that made it _‘almost_ anything’ was Party Poison at his side.

“Gerard,” he begged, voice pleading and desperate, more than he’d been in a long fucking time, “ _Please_ come with me. Don’t make me lose you, too.”

He’d never asked anyone not to leave him before, never thought it would make a difference, but there he was. He’d do anything if it meant Gerard would just _get up_ and come with him.

“Frankie,” Gerard said a little desperately himself, his eyes finally opening to meet Frank’s. They filled with tears he couldn’t shed anymore, “I don’t think I can go without them.”

Sliding his palms down his legs, up his chest, over his shoulders to gently cradle his neck in one and his cheek in the other, Frank swiped one thumb lightly under his eye to catch the small wetness that had collected and tried to escape, he breathed slowly.

“Then don’t. Take them with you, but you can’t let them die completely. You’re all that they have left to live through, Gee. When you die, they’re gone forever. Their shadow lives on in _you_ , Gerard. Don’t let these fuckers take them out twice, baby. Come on. _Come with me_. I fucking love you and _I need_ _you_ with me.”

Frank held his breath when he stopped talking, his hands shaking hard where they rested against Gerard’s skin. He wanted to show Gerard how much he fucking loved him, how much he fucking _loved_ him and he wasn’t afraid to fucking admit it anymore, not if it would help him get Gerard to _leave_.

Finally, fucking _finally_ , when Frank had almost given up and _dragged_ him out over his shoulder, kicking and screaming be damned, Gerard nodded and roughly wiped at his eyes.

“Let’s go.”

Ten minutes later, Gerard did a final sweep of the last place he’d ever see his brother and best friend alive again and finally got into the car. Frank slid into the driver’s seat and put his booted foot down hard, peeling off into the sun. It wasn’t sunset, that would be too fuckin’ cliche, but it wasn’t important what time of day it was, what position the fucking sun took in the sky. What was important was that he had Gerard in the car with him and it didn’t matter that he had no clue where he was going. Gerard slid the static of the radio on, just loud enough to catch the sounds coming through until he found the right frequency and Dr. Death Defying voice came out loud and proud, the last of what could have been the ‘Stones, or even something from the Misfits’ if Frank let himself hope (and he was good at that, had a way of being able to fucking _hope_ when everything inside of him was saying the opposite).

“Hey,” Gerard mumbled nearly an hour into their drive, when Dr. D had dropped his location in code and they had changed course to meet up with him, maybe take advantage of his survivors camp while they waited for the diner to air out, “Frankie. Frankie, I love you, too.”

Frank felt the bloom of warmth in his chest, couldn’t stop from shooting a small, warm smile at Gerard.

“I know, fuckhead. I never doubted it.”

-

By the time his familiar shack came into view, it felt like months since Ghoul had seen Dr. D and his crew. Pony came to greet him first because he actually hadn’t seen Pony in months due to their alternating mission times so he didn’t fight his bone crushing hug and he even gave Dr. D a dorky thumbs up sign when he got one first. Poison got a hug too, from both of them and he still looked miserable but at least it was a little more manageable this time.

“You boys sure have been through a lot,” Dr. D said gently, like he knew just how fragile Poison was, “Witness and Machine will set up the tent for you guys. Survivors are still comin’ and I e’spect to have a steady low of ‘em until the end of tomorrow.”

“What’s the 411 on when we can get back home?” Ghoul asked, sliding a calming arm around Poison’s wrist when he felt him beginning to tremble just a little. It had been a long time for Poison, since he’d had to deal with people, the first time since the loss of his crew and it was getting a little overwhelming for him.

“A week, tops.” Dr. D shrugged, “We’ll get you guys home in no time. Now you must have a major case of dust mouth, there are some relief supplies in the middle of camp, some Dead Peg for your lady if she’s needin’ it. I know it’s been pretty polka dotty lately and it’s likely to go Costa Rica before it really lines itself back up, but I know you guys can make it. Just call if you need anything, you know you’re always welcome here.”

“Thanks,” Ghoul smiled, just a little, “A lot, really. I think we just need to go rest for now.”

“Just follow me.” Witness popped out from the shack, holding the familiar bag that held the visitors’ tent Ghoul always used when he stayed over after an info run.

“Anywhere,” Ghoul winked at her, because he felt like someone needed to fill in the playful air that Poison usually filled. It would have been too awkward without it, Machine trailing behind them and obviously still a little sore about being threatened the last time they’d spoken. Ghoul understood, even if he was a little irritated that she’d take anything Poison had said in that state seriously.

They set up close to the shack but far enough to have a little privacy. Ghoul had Machine park the Trans Am right behind the tent, in case there was a need for another quick get away, but before he and Poison disappeared for, no doubt, the rest of the day, Poison and Machine hugged it out hard. Ghoul thought about being jealous at the obvious way their bodies fit together, the untold story he probably couldn’t pry out of either of them with a bar, but really, it would have been too much effort to be jealous of something that obviously meant a lot to both of them, but didn’t affect _his_ relationship with either of them and didn’t threaten anything he’d worked so hard to find for himself. He and Witness small talked while Poison and Machine talked for a little bit and finally Ghoul let himself be tugged into the tent to sleep off the day, curled up tight with Poison, solid and there and alive.

Poison didn’t like Ghoul out of his sight for too long but Ghoul was getting too antsy, not doing anything but sleeping all day, so while Poison rested - something that, no matter how often he slept, he looked like he always needed to do - in the tent, Ghoul helped out around the camp. There was never a shortage for helping hands but Dr. D would only trust a specific few with his equipment and, lucky for Ghoul, he was one of them, so he spent his days playing music, helping Dr. D direct operations all around the desert from a remote position and only a few messages and callers to rely on for the big picture. By the end of the week, he had an even bigger respect for what Dr. D did and what his crew had to go through every day just to keep everyone safe. At night, he curled around Poison and told him about his day, what happened and who showed up, who had left and who had joined together. There was a girl who hung around the shack, giggling and laughing whenever she got the chance to tease at Dr. D or Show Pony. Ghoul didn’t ask about her and eventually, when one of the family crews left, she disappeared with them. If Dr. D was a little sad to see her go, Ghoul didn’t mention it because when it came to children of the carburetor staying in the desert, you just didn’t mention it.

Because he was with Dr. D during the day, he was the first one to see the dust cloud rising in the distance. He watched it stop at least a mile away from camp and two figures got out and the car sped away again, away from the camp. The figures started to slowly make their way to camp and it only took Ghoul a few seconds to recognize that blinding blond, that frizz of hair.

“I have to take this,” He shouted through the wall of the shack, grabbing one of the bikes with buggies meant for the injured and taking off without even waiting for a response.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly _be_ but Ghoul _had_ to know, he _had_ to-

And even though it wasn’t _possible_ , it somehow _was_ , because when he slowed and pulled up to the figures, it was.

“Took you guys long enough,” He couldn’t help but tease because what he was feeling was _relief_ , the kind he hadn’t gotten the chance to ever feel before, the kind that meant the ones you thought were dead _weren’t_.

“We were a little held up,” Jet Star grinned, motioning to a swollen and bright red foot in a ripped up shoe Ghoul vividly remembered Jet Star wearing.

“Yeah, well, someone at camp has been absolutely polka dotty about you two. So get on the fucking bike so I can go make him smile again, please.”

Kobra rolled his eyes, but he helped Jet Star into the buggy and slung a long, thin leg over the seat and settled in behind Ghoul.

“So I guess the trial periods over,” He admitted before Ghoul started the engine again.

“Oh, wow,” Ghoul looked over his shoulder, “When does my taining begin? I wanna be a _real_ Killjoy!”

“Training starts now,” Jet Star seethed a little, “Now that I’m not on it, my foot feels kind of like it’s gonna fall off so if you could kindly take me to a Sawbones so I could get it fixed, I’ll make you a real Killjoy myself.”

“A little late,” Ghoul pointed out, but he revved the motor and took off back toward camp, feeling light enough to float back to Poison’s side.

“Kobra Kid, Jet Star! Oooh, is Party Poison gonna be fucking milkshakes when he sees you.”

“Could you call one of the Bones?” Ghoul asked, “Jet Star’s foot isn’t lookin’ too shiny.”

“What the hell happened to you two?” Fuck Machine gaped at them, “You’ve been gone for over _two weeks._ ”

“Well…” Jet Star blinked, sitting at one of the tables while a Bones zoomed in and took over his foot, tsking and tutting and pulling out any number of instruments to fix the bad sunburn and the swelling ankle, “See, we were driving and like, this ambush just...ambushed us! And we fought them off at first but we finally got taken, right? And we thought we were done for but…”

“We had a prototype,” Kobra smirked and held up a hand. His glove was metal plated along the top of his hand and the pads of his fingers and there was a messy, but functional, keypad along his wrist.

“Holy shit,” Ghoul gaped, “You guys finished it? We found another one on your work table and I just thought…”

“That was the second prototype, this one still has a few bugs. Like right now, it’s kind of fused to my hand? But whatever, that’s fixable. I’m talking super strength!” Kobra waved his hands a little, “Electrical shocks that take Dracs out in a split second! The possibilities are unlimited! So we were able to break out of the van when they had their guard down but that wasn’t until they were all the way in Zone 1, and Zone 1 isn’t exactly friendly to our faces right now what with it swarming with Dracs who have come specifically to make sure the infamous Killjoys don’t escape.”

“So the point of the story is, we escaped, but it took awhile. And then we were walking from Zone 1 because all the zones had cleared due to the mass raiding. Some coyote tipped BL off or something because they were chasing us practically the whole way. Even Korse was out with them looking! It fucking sucked. I lost my shoe in one of the chases and then my foot got a really bad sunburn, and then it got cut and I’m pretty sure its infected, but we’re alive!”

“That’s great! I’ll take you to Poison right away.”

“He’s got a cold,” Ghoul explained when they looked around, confused, like Poison was just supposed to show up, “He hasn’t been running on full or taking care of himself and he only lets me do so much so he caught something from one of the other survivors. Nothing serious,” He assured when they looked worried, “He’s just resting right now and it would probably just fuck him up to started running around everywhere right now. Let’s get you guys fixed up and I’ll show you to the tent.”

“We’ll have to cut this off,” Kobra held his hand up again and the smell of burnt flesh did sort of reek from it.

“I’ve got a knife,” Witness pulled a fucking dagger from under her black skirt and Kobra took it, looked at his hand and the dagger appraisingly and then turned and offered the hilt to Ghoul.

“You took care of my brother pretty well if you got him here,” He explained when Ghoul looked confused, “So lets see you with the rest of your crew, Killjoy.”

 _He’s **trusting** you?_ Fun Ghoul asked in confusing.

 _Of course he is_ , Frank laughed, _You’re a **Killjoy** now. One of his._

Ghoul took the hilt carefully and got to work cutting the burnt glove from Kobra’s skin. His hand only slipped once and Kobra didn’t even look angry until he saw the state of his fingers.

By the time they’d been all fixed up, they were more ointment, medicine and bandages than people, but Ghoul preferred that to nothing at all. Kobra’s hand had been bandaged most of all. His fingers hadn’t been affected too much, luckily enough for him, but his wrist and palm had been badly burnt and a few of his gashes had had to be reopened and bled of infection before they could be wrapped. Star’s ankle and foot were fucked and he wouldn’t be allowed on it for at least a week and a half, meaning that their overall stay at the survivor’s camp would have to be prolonged but Ghoul really couldn’t give a shit when he was going to see Gerard’s _smile_ again.

“Okay, okay, we’re fixed up, can we _go_ now,” Kobra tapped his good foot nervously. He was even more antsy to see Poison that Ghoul was to lead them to him so he let Jet Star hook an arm over his shoulders and the three of them hobbled to the tent slowly. After Poison had come down with the cold, Witness and Machine had set up a smaller makeshift shack for them in the hopes that a little more room would help Poison recover faster. They really could do with someone who could lead a group since that definitely wasn’t Ghoul and Dr. D’s crew was used to working behind a radio. It wasn’t much, but it was better than the small tent and the open air had given Poison’s lungs a better chance to heal up from the coughing and sneezing he’d been doing. Better, it gave all three of them enough room to pile in and find Poison, sleeping soundly if still with that heartbreaking expression on his face.

Mikey didn’t hesitate, just dropped his ray gun, toed off the shoe he hadn’t needed to remove and ripped the last of his filthy jacket off so he could crawl into the bedding they’d been sleeping on, tugging insistently on Gerard’s clothes to get him up.

“GeeGeeGeeGee, wake the fuck up, wake up!” He chanted, squeezing his cheeks until Gerard’s eyes cracked open drowsily.

“M-Mikey?” he grumbled. He had cried in his sleep last night, eyes still kinda gummy with dried salt and tear wet sand, and his voice was still sleep-drunk when he groaned, “i’s too fuckin’ early, what the fuck-”

“Gee!” Mikey sounded too choked up to do more than call his name and Ghoul stood against the wall, couldn’t stop smiling as he watched the realization dawn on Gerard, the emotion that the word _happy_ would never be able to capture that covered his face.

“Mikey!” He nearly shrieked out, sitting up straight to throw his arms around his brother. Ray laughed, arms crossing over his chest like he had to stop himself from reaching into their moment, like he wanted to give them just a little more time. Ghoul just watched Gerard press tearful kisses to Mikey’s face, everywhere he could reach, his hands going to run carefully over bandages and through his hair, like he couldn’t believe he was _real_ , like he still thought he was dreaming. He was crying, but so was Mikey, and their tears mingled on the sheets as they held each other. Dirt tracks leaked down Mikey’s cheeks but neither cared and Ghoul could only _imagine_ what that would be like, to find someone he’d lost still alive, still _his_. But he couldn’t have that, and he didn’t mind living through Gerard for just this moment and let that happiness wash over him, the relief at seeing the three of them so happy and together again after so long.

Ray finally stepped forward and crawled into their little world, like Ghoul knew he always had, in a way that Ghoul would never be able to do, and he wrapped his arms around them both, hugged tight, and his voice wet with his own tears when he said, “Fuck, Gee, we missed you.”

Gerard laughed out loud, almost hysterical as he clutched them both until his fingers turned white.

Ghoul felt a clang in his heart, so fucking _fond_ of Gerard, even of Mikey and Ray. But he knew this wasn’t his, couldn’t be his after the shit he’d gone through, the shit he’d done. So he slipped out while Gerard buried his face in Ray’s chest, let the clothe working as their door brush closed behind him. He found Witness waiting for him, like she knew he’d sneak out at some point and she wanted to catch him.

“I…” He tried, not sure how to explain himself.

“Come on, sweetcheeks,” She winked, “Acid fire in Zone 3, we need help.”

“Yeah,” He agreed and followed her.

He was there for almost two hours before the fire was under control, and then Dr. D kicked him out to go rest because he’d been running around too much lately, extending himself too far. So he nicked Pony’s stupid cowboy hat, took some pain meds for his growing headache and found a nice, sunny spot to perch on and sunbathe. He ran cold in the desert, couldn’t remember his usual body temperature in the city anymore, and for all that he got too hot sometimes, he liked to sit with his shirt off and just feel the warmth on his sun kissed skin when he spent a long time indoors.

It was there, in a corner spot with good sun and some shade close by in case there was a random acid rain, tracing the lines of one of his tattoos, that Kobra Kid found him.

“He told me what you said. What you did.”

Kobra’s voice would have shocked him, had he not felt him coming from pretty far away. Ghoul cracked an eye open and shrugged a little, flicking the rim of the hat up so he could see the black figure that the sun had turned Kobra into.

“Should you even be up? Why are you out here? Did something happen?”

“He told me what you did,” Kobra repeated, dropping into the sand next to him. “Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?” Ghoul blinked at him, feeling a little confused. This was probably the longest conversation they’d ever had before and he really didn’t want to spend the whole time confused.

“Fun Ghoul,” Kobra started and Ghoul felt his stomach drop, “I had heard of you, before. The rumor was you were a monster. A Drac in Zone Rat’s clothing. I didn’t know you were the kid from Bat City, and to tell you the truth, I barely remember you from back then. It’s kind of hazy now, because I forget things, when they don’t affect my life anymore, but the point is - I’d heard of you and the things I’d heard weren’t good. I didn’t want you in our business, let alone our crew, because I didn’t believe you about Leathermouth and I thought you were just going to spy for them or something. You’d killed before, more than just Dracs and Exterminators, and I didn’t want me or my family on that list.”

“I hated Leathermouth,” Ghoul shrugged, pulling his legs to his chest so he didn’t feel so exposed, “I hate Leathermouth. The rest of it...I am a monster. I know that. Leathermouth’s personal Drac, is what Hambone used to call me.”

“Fuck that guy,” Kobra said casually, because he really did hate Leathermouth just as much as Ghoul did, “The point I’m making is this. When I first met you, I knew you were playing Ray. I knew you weren’t being honest but I didn’t say anything because I know my brother and he wouldn’t hear a word I said until you proved me right. Except you _didn’t_ prove me right, Frank.”

Ghoul felt his muscles tense a little bit. _Frank._

“Gee told me your name,” Kobra nodded, “Because he told you ours. It’s a give and taken thing in this crew. A crew you kind of _earned_ your way into. But I want to know, before this...trial period of mine, or whatever, before I can really...really accept you in. You took care of him, you saved his life, you rode out to pick us up yourself and got us attention immediately, even knowing that I didn’t like you, that enough words from both of us would have you kicked out on your ass, and you didn’t even hesitate. So tell me, Frank. _Why?_ ”

“Because I love him,” Frank said slowly, the only reason he could give that answered it all, every question, the only thing that mattered, “Because I love him. I know I’m a monster, Kobra. I know the rumors you heard, because most of them I started myself, doing something or another than no real person should do. But...But _fuck_ , do I love him.”

Kobra didn’t say anything in response and Ghoul tried to count the grains of sand biting into his palm, one-two-three-ten-twenty-twentysix-

Kobra stood up without speaking and Ghoul wanted to bash his head against the sand. He blew it. He fucking blew it and now it was all for nothing, it was all going to be over, it was all so fucking unfair-

“It’s Mikey now, Frank.” Kobra interrupted his thoughts, “So call me Mikey, when we’re not on a mission. It’s how it works in our crew.”

Mikey offered his hand, once again a black figure in the sun but this time with an arm outstretched to Frank. A peace offering.

Frank reached out and gripped his hand tight, let him pull him from the sand and lead him back to Gerard, sleeping again but lightly enough to make a pleased noise when Mikey climbed back into the bedding and slit his eyes open when Frank didn’t immediately follow.

“Ass in the bed,” he reached out with one hand and Frank went from one brother to another, laughing a little as Gerard pulled him down so he could octopus his arms around him.

Carefully, Frank reached out and ran his fingers through his hair, cupped his cheek and brushed his thumb under his eye, just wanted to touch and feel that it was _real_.

“Frankie…” Gerard huffed in a soft exhale and Frank couldn’t help but smile. There was a rush of warmth in him, something that didn’t come from _Frank_.

 _You fell too._ He laughed in his head.

 _I’m **you**_ Fun Ghoul snapped back defensively, _Of course I did._

The Killjoys weren’t Bob and his mom (no one could ever replace them, no matter what Fun Ghoul said when he was angry at Ghoul), they weren’t Pencey either. They were something completely different, but something that made even Fun Ghoul want to _hope._

Frank was okay with that.

-

Eventually, they got to return to the diner. It was weeks later, Jet Star able to walk a little better and both of them only a few days away from finishing their medicine regiment and they were all ready to go home. Dr. D had sent enough people around to make sure their diner hadn’t been fucked over but Star swept it himself after Poison had helped him from the Trans Am with some sort of gadget he and Kobra had made. They settled in slowly, not sure where everything fit with a new member but things clicking into place steadily until it was back to whatever constituted as normal in a desert wasteland populated by Zone rats and the evil zombie people that hunted them. Star had no trouble talking to him anymore, got so comfortable that he didn’t even hesitate to steal Ghoul away from Poison to hold his tools and help him tinker with whatever machine he’d stolen from an Exterminator or picked up at the bazaar when Kobra couldn’t help him. Kobra, usually the first one up, made enough coffee for four when they had the stuff for it. He was...friendly, if a little odd, like Ghoul had imagined him to be as a kid. He and Poison were obviously brothers now that the icy looks and cold shoulders were gone - they looked like each other, a little, had the same personality quirks and the same dumb laugh and the same way of nerding out over half-forgotten comics and music Dr. D played. He knew when he’d accepted Poison’s offer that eventually he’d get too close to them and Fun Ghoul had never let him forget what that meant for him in the long run, but he really hadn’t expected it to take such a short time to find himself getting fond of them both, much different from his feelings about Poison (something Poison never let him forget, a whispered “Love you,” into his shoulder when they were sleeping or a brush of his fingers against Ghoul’s cheek whenever he was close enough to just prove that he was there, that he was alive and well and still the Gerard-Party-Poison that he loved and not the Party-Poison-Gerard he’d been scared would show up) but still strong. It was almost how he’d felt about Bob, in a less intense and idealistic way.

Their first missions were a long time coming, but come they did, because they wouldn’t be the Killjoys if they let a little tragedy pull them down.

It was easy at first, nothing that came down to any large scale Drac claps or fights that were too much for them to handle, but Ghoul wasn’t sure where he was supposed to fall into place on their fighting roster. Party Poison and Jet Star were a team, they knew each other’s bodies as well as Ghoul and Poison knew each other’s, without ever fucking, because they were used to the way they fought together. From his observations, they were a strong fighting force to be reckoned with and they worked together like a machine. The only weakness in their partnership was Kobra. He wasn’t saying Kobra was weak, far from it. Kobra would always be the one Ghoul would least want to fight and not just because he still wasn’t quite sure Kobra actually liked him enough to not kill him when there weren’t witnesses. Kobra was lethal in a way neither Jet Star or Poison were. Ghoul knew Kobra had been in the city from a younger age than the others, remembered more about it than the desert from childhood, no matter what he told Ghoul, because Ghoul could _see_ the city in him, could see where the Smog, Shadows and Deceit that had formed Fun Ghoul in Frank had adopted Kobra and made him stronger. For all that the Killjoys were proper desert borns, the city had staked her claim on them, enough to love them like any of her own and take care of them. Kobra fought like a desert born, but every sly trick he used was pure city and it eased something in Ghoul, something that itched every once in awhile for his city despite knowing that he belonged in the desert, that it was where he was meant to be. Kobra’s strength wasn’t apparently until a Drac got too close, until it was too late to run away, and then he struck like the cobra he was named after with wicked fast kicks and punches strong enough to knock someone off their feet and three yards back. No, Kobra wasn’t the weak point in their fighting style because he, himself, was weak. Kobra was the weak point because sometimes it looked like Jet Star and Poison _forgot_ just how dangerous he was.

Ghoul knew what it was like to know everyone thought you were weak because you were the smallest, the youngest, the motorbaby in a group of hardened rebels, and he could see the way Poison and Jet Star would let their guard down, abandon each other when they were needed side by side to come to Kobra’s aid, needed or not, and he could see how dangerous it was because it would eventually get one of them killed and it probably wouldn’t be Kobra. So when the harder missions started coming, when firefights and claps with the pigs became common place again, Ghoul picked up the slack. He and Kobra worked well together, because they knew what it was like to be underestimated. It wasn’t long before they could spot when each of them was a little over their head, sometimes literally in Ghoul’s case, and knew what they needed to do to help. Ghoul took out as many as he could before they reached Kobra but once they got passed him, he knew they wished they hadn’t and Kobra was constantly on Ghoul’s six, watching his blind spot for him like he needed in a good fight.

Ghoul hardly noticed when they slipped into _partners_ territory, and it was almost like Kobra hadn’t either until Ghoul and Star returned from a supply run to find Poison laughing until he cried and a flustered looking Kobra.

They heard the laughing almost before they pulled up in the Trans Am, a new supplies in a box in the back seat.

“You don’t think the Used came back, do you?” Jet Star blinked, looking a little worried. Poetic Tragedy and his friends had dropped by for a surprise visit, having heard that their favorite promise had been shacking up with the Killjoys and had stayed for awhile, just to tease Poison and Ghoul about their new found relationship and eat all their food. Ghoul and Jet Star, as it turned out, made pretty good supply run partners, as someone who didn’t like spending money and someone who didn’t need much to be content. And Ghoul could always build some explosives on the fly to hawk at the bazaar if Jet Star had had to spent too much for his liking which always put Star is a pretty good mood by the time they got back to the diner.

“I don’t think so,” Ghoul shook his head, “That’s Poison and when was the last time any of them could make him do anything other than burst a blood vessel?”

“True,” Star agreed, shooting him an amused look. Ghoul tried not to be too pleased that he’d finally made them like him. “Come on, let’s go see what’s so funny.”

Jet Star took the box from the back seat while Ghoul held the diner door open for him. Inside, Kobra sat with his arms crossed and his cheeks red while Poison laughed, head on the table and body shaking with amusement.

“What’s going on?” Jet Star blinked at them, setting the box in its usual place to be unloaded later.

Poison couldn’t even talk, just pointed at Kobra, who said haughtily, “I was just _explaining_ to Poison how Ghoul and I have become a team.”

Jet Star raised an eyebrow, looked between them, and sighed, “This, I gotta see.”

So Kobra flipped the paper over in front of him and used his writing utensil to go over how he and Ghoul had become a working team through the use of X’s and circles. By the time he was done, Jet Star had started laughing too, but Ghoul felt warm in his gut and he was pretty sure he was smiling. If Kobra was looking at him in a similar fashion and if they, maybe, made up a secret handshake on the spot, it was no one’s business but his own.

-

Ghoul had thought about it for a long time before he finally offered. It was just, Poison and Kobra and Jet Star had given him so much of themselves. They’d opened their crew, their home, their friends, all to him and he hadn’t been able to give much back. There wasn’t much of him left, under the new _happiness_ and the old wounds. He couldn’t give them connections to old crews he’d run with because all of them had either disbanded or cut all ties with him, he couldn’t give them friends because they’d somehow managed to run in the same circles for years without meeting and all of Ghoul’s friends were the Killjoys’ first. The one thing he could share, had to his name, was his mom and Bob.

The night he decided to ask, he woke up in the dark room. _Frank_ was solid, standing up and smiling at him. Gerard had done that, Ghoul knew. Fun Ghoul stood next to him, not so towering anymore but just as fierce. He looked softer somehow, and the scar around his eye had all but disappeared. Gerard had done that, too.

“This is a bad idea,” Fun Ghoul said firmly as soon as Ghoul had opened his eyes and adjusted to the darkness. He hadn’t been to this room in so long, not since the first night Kobra and Star had gone missing and Ghoul had finally made the decision that he’d unknowingly been on the fence about to stay.

“I don’t think so,” Frank replied, and his voice was strong, there and not scared anymore, “I think Bob and mom would have loved them.”

“I know they would have,” Fun Ghoul agreed, “But this is still a terrible idea. A really terrible idea. This isn’t just-just some fucking _thing_! This is _Bob and mom_ , this is-”

“All I have.” Ghoul nodded, “They’re all I have left, Fun Ghoul. And I want to share it with them. Even if it ends badly for all of us, I want to share this with them.”

Fun Ghoul didn’t respond, didn’t argue again but he didn’t look like he agreed either.

Ghoul woke the next morning to an empty freezer but the smell of coffee coming in from the main room. He found Poison and Kobra sitting across from each other in the booth, looking dead tired but getting there with their mugs of steaming brew. Jet Star was at his work table, fiddling with a telepad that was probably their supply list.

Poison tapped a steaming mug next to him and Ghoul flopped into the offered seat, taking a sip of the bitter blackness and letting it bite through him for a few minutes until he felt like he could talk again.

“It’s around that time,” he finally spoke up, knowing Poison would know what days he was talking about. Poison would have been counting the days to the anniversary too.

“You leaving again?” Poison mumbled into his shoulder, his arm sliding around Ghoul’s waist affectionately.

“I was, um...I was actually wondering if you guys wanted to go with me.” He admitted, “You don’t have to, obviously, I just thought...like, you’ve shared so much with me. This is all I have to share with you.”

No one answered for a few seconds and Ghoul fidgeted, ready to take back the offer when Jet Star piped up, “Yeah, I’ll go.”

“Us, too,” Kobra agreed for he and Poison, “I’ll admit, I wanted to know what you were doing last year.”

“It isn’t exactly exciting,” Ghoul warned, “It’s actually kind of uh, depressing.”

“That’s fine,” Jet Star waved him off, “Come help me with these wires. I want to make this explode, but in a controlled way.”

A few days later, Ghoul as sitting in the back seat with Jet Star, Poison and Kobra scabbling over the tape they were going to put in for the ride and headed towards the bazaar. It had taken to stopping in Zone 1 every year around the same time, one of the only consistent stops it made every year, and they rolled up and parked with Cherry Bomb’s cars without much fanfare.

She agreed to watch their car for some hugs, including Ghoul’s, and after a few minutes of talking, they were off.

Frank knew what he needed, so he went about getting it with little hesitation.

There wasn’t much talking until Ghoul was leading them away from the bazaar, along a familiar path to that place that was forever etched into his memory.

“I’m renewing my vows,” He finally answered Poison’s question. He knew his eyes were getting wet but he didn’t feel like he had to hide it from any of them, not this time, not about this particular thing.

“The Black Parade rebellion, I...I lost...everything. My family. My-My mom, and...and my best friend. Bob. Y-you might remember him.”

It was hard to talk about so candidly, hard to even say their names out loud, hard to do anything on this day of all days. He felt exposed and vulnerable, like he was naked and letting all of them look at his scars and bruises. He’d wanted this though, _wanted_ to let them see him, all of him, let someone know that Bob and his mom still meant something to someone, that neither of them had stopped existing just because they’d died.

“E-Every year, I come back.” His breathe wasn’t coming easy anymore but he kept walking, not quite sure what to do when the wall came into view, the gate that still set like it was mocking them, the surrounding asphalt on either side still stained a deep red after all theses years - still a warning sign for any who saw it.

He heard Poison say his name, sounding choked and emotional but he had to keep going, had to say it out loud so they knew what happened to him, one day if he didn’t come back.

“I’ll avenge them. This is my vow and I make it every year here, with these.”

He finally dropped to his knees, near other crosses. He hadn’t left those, they were probably from earlier today. BL came in the next morning every time and destroyed the monuments that had been left behind for those lost.

He opened his palm on the nail when he tried to bang it into the wood in the wrong spot.

His crew joined him, took the wood and hammered the nails in with the blade of Jet Star’s knife, buried the flowers together under the cross. When Frank told them what to do next, they made it almost three hours before they had to move and Frank was kind of proud, hadn’t expected for them to last even an hour without moving. They stayed quiet until morning and when they returned to the diner, they didn’t talk about it. Ray and Mikey both touched Frank’s shoulder though, gave him genuine looks of sadness for his loss. It didn’t heal the pain inside, but it made it a little more bearable.

When Ghoul realized that they were becoming a little more aggressive, a little more likely to chase down any rogue Exterminators or Drac packs than to let them go, he wasn’t sure how to show how grateful he was.

It was chasing down a roaming Exterminator, months later, that the Killjoys met Shane Morris.

-

Ghoul wasn’t talking to Poison. Ghoul wasn’t talking to Poison because Ghoul was beyond pissed at Poison and didn’t know how to talk to him without smacking him across his battered face and yelling. Really, Poison should have been glad that all he was getting was the nastiest glares that Ghoul could throw at him and the silence. He wasn’t even sleeping in the freezer anymore, took the booth during the night when he wasn’t watching for any Dracs coming to avenge their fallen leader, what the fuck ever.

“You’ll have to forgive him, eventually,” Jet Star pointed out when he found him one morning, still laying on the booth seat.

“I know,” Ghoul grumbled, “Just not today. Or probably tomorrow. Maybe not this year.”

“It was a little out of his hands, Ghoul,” Jet Star laughed at him, as calm as ever. Jet Star never got angry, not even at Ghoul, who, to be honest, sometimes went out of his way to piss everyone off just to see if they’d still let him stick around, “I mean, was he just supposed to run away? Leave us behind?”

 _Yes,_ Frank shouted in his ear. Fun Ghoul was suspiciously silent.

Ghoul stayed silent too, a huffy, immature silence that got him another smile from Jet Star.

“Gee would do anything for us, Frankie. Even fight Shane fucking Morris. Even _survive_ that fight, because he knew how much it would torture us to lose him. He loves you, man. You love him. Go tell him how glad you are he’s still alive. It was a pretty shitty situation, but don’t take your anger out on him when it was BL who did it.”

Ghoul knew he was right, and he knew he was being immature but it had fucking _scared_ him, watching Poison fight, fading in and out of the darkness and seeing more and more blood that _wasn’t_ Morris’ every time his eyes flickered open, not able to help - hell, not being able to _move_ properly. It reminded him too much of Bob and his mom, helplessly watching them being destroyed. He’d had nightmares about it for days after, watching Poison fight against a monster with Morris’ eyes, a gate between them, separating them, forcing Ghoul to watch as Poison was ripped apart by Morris, eaten alive, dragged off by a scientist.

Eventually it was the nightmares that drove Ghoul back to the freezer, back to Poison’s bandaged arms.

“So was I badass getting my ass handed to me?” Poison mumbled into his ear teasingly after they’d pressed _miss you_ s into each other’s skin for a few soft moments.

“The baddest of the badasses,” Ghoul laughed quietly, “But don’t try to prove your badassitude again, or I’ll break your knees myself.”

“You got it, angel,” Poison pressed a kiss to his shoulder and they went to sleep, wrapped around each other tightly.

It was calm for awhile, to the point that both he and Poison felt comfortable with Ghoul leaving to deliver some information packages to Dr. D. He hadn’t done it in awhile but it was still, technically, his job and riding solo for a few hours would do his head some good, he thought.

He made it to Dr. D’s without a problem, dropped the package off and was on his way home when he spotted a familiar car and couldn’t help but laugh under his bandana. When the car had stopped and Shallow Believer stuck his head out of the sun roof, Ghoul skidded to a halt and raised his hand.

“What are you crash queens doin’ out here?”

“Zone Hopping, storm chasing, one or the other.” Sold Soul grinned, “Tragedy and I have a bet about which Zone has the worst acid rain.”

“Who’s winning?” Ghoul couldn’t help but ask. It ended up with a wrestling fight between Tragedy and Soul, the two scabbling in the sand while Born Quitter and Shallow Believer watched from either side of Fun Ghoul

“So, Fun Ghoul,” Quitter smirked at him, nudging him just a little, “You still stickin’ with the Killjoys, huh?”

Yeah,” Ghoul nodded, smiling just a little. He felt the weight of the Frankenstein mask in his pocket, matching the monster tattoo he’d gotten on his leg, remembered Jet Star tossing it to him with a laugh and a _Hey, Frankie, I got you something._ He tried not to think about the conversation he and Poison had had later that night because he didn’t want his cheeks to flush in front of the Used crew. He’d never live it down. “Yeah, I’m gonna stick with them for awhile.” _Maybe forever, as long as the Sand and Sun will let me,_

“What about revenge for Noise Control and your mom?” Sold Soul asked from atop Poetic Tragedy, who he had pinned on his stomach, face smashed into the sand. Ghoul frowned, looking down, not quite sure how to put it into words, how much he wanted to reveal.

“You know...I will take down Better Living. But Poison and the others...they make me feel like I don’t have to do it on my own, you know?” He kicked sand into Tragedy’s mouth when he started guffawing at him.

“We get it,” Believer nodded, touching his shoulder for just a moment, like they all had when Bob - Noise Control to them, to everyone in the desert that had cared about him - and his mom were first lost to him, “Just remember us, Ghoul. When you do go to get that revenge, we want a part of it. Noise Control, even your mom, even you, they were ours. One of us.”

After that is was a little more play fighting, Ghoul egging it on whenever he got the chance until Tragedy and Soul were trying to bury each other in sand before he had to leave, the sun going down in an hour or two.

“I’ll see you guys,” He promised, “Don’t go getting ghosted.”

“Like _you_ can say that to us,” Tragedy wagged a finger at him and smacked a wet kiss onto his cheek, “Don’t be a stranger, Fuck Off in Italian.”

“I won’t,” Ghoul rolled his eyes but he was still smiling when their car revved and started driving towards the next Zone out to see if the acid rain was stronger.

-

It had been so long since he’d heard about them that Ghoul had been half convinced that Leathermouth was dead, blown up in an attempt to make their own bombs or because they pissed off the wrong crew, Zone rat or BL or even a family crew. After a while, nearly four years away from them, away from the shit and the abuse, he had relaxed his guard on any repercussions of leaving the crew, and that was where he had made his first mistake regarding Leathermouth. Or maybe his first mistake was not blowing the whole camp up after he and Dewees left. Either way, Leathermouth was a giant fucking mistake, but he still couldn’t bring himself to shoot he familiar figure driving towards Dr. D’s shack in the same way that he hadn’t been able to ignore when he’d gotten the request to meet up.

“We don’t have to do this,” Poison said quietly, Hambone’s frame becoming more and more obvious, “We can just leave. You don’t owe him anything.

“I know,” Ghoul nodded, reaching back to squeeze his wrist, “But...it’s...I can’t ignore him.”

He let go and turned back to the dust cloud, crossed his arms and tried not to fidget. It had been so long, he’d changed so much. He was almost scared that seeing him again, seeing someone from his past, would make him regress, would ruin whatever progress he’d been making. But he couldn’t turn down his request to meet, because it was _Hambone._

“Ghoul,” Hambone’s voice brought him back to the present, to where the once-familiar face was looking at him. Hambone had gotten a little more skeletal since the last time they’d seen each other, lost the last of his soft, boyhood looks and gained a new scar across his cheeks. He was still the same Hambone though and Ghoul couldn’t help but feel a little relieved that he looked okay, if a little haggard.

“You came,” Hambone said after a few seconds.

“I came,” Ghoul agreed, offering his hand. Hambone regarded it before carefully clasping hands with him. He yanked and Ghoul stumbled forward, into a tight, tight hug. He buried his face in Hambone’s shoulder, squeezed back tight.

“I’m glad. When we last saw each other…”

“Yeah,” Ghoul agreed, because there wasn’t much else to say. He’d been sure that would be the last time he’d ever see Hambone, his last connection to Pencey. And now, here they were.

They stood together for a long time, just breathing in each other. Ghoul felt like the last four years had done more to heal the rift between them then the months that they traveled together, alone, and he was glad.

“I need your help.” Hambone admitted when they finally pulled away, “I hate to ask, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“Okay.” Ghoul agreed again. He couldn’t say no, not to Hambone, not after so long. “Let me, I dunno. Introduce you to my crew.”

“Ah, the Killjoys.” Hambone hesitated, “We’ve met. They don’t like me much.”

“I don’t like you much,” Ghoul couldn’t help but smile a little and Hambone laughed, sounding surprised.

“You’re humor’s back. They must be doing something right.”

“Ha,” Ghoul scoffed, “Very funny.”

He stepped back, moved so Poison, Kobra and Jet Star could see Hambone, “Guys, this is Hambone. Hambone, this is my crew. Party Poison, Kobra Kid and Jet Star.”

“We’ve met.” Poison offered his hand and Hambone took it hesitantly. It was probably the bland smile on Poison’s face.

“So tell me what’s going on,” Ghoul asked once Hambone had made the acquaintance of his friends, Kobra as icy with him as he’d originally been with Ghoul and Jet Star just as non-judgmentally friendly, and they’d stepped a little bit aways.

“I didn’t know who else to tell,” Hambone rubbed his neck, “And this was so serious, the only person I could think of was Dr. D and the Killjoys, but I knew they’d never listen to anything I had to say, being in Leathermouth.”

“Did something happen?” Ghoul frowned, looking him over again. On a second look through, he looked more than haggard, like there was a bone deep tiredness in him. He looked defeated.

“It’s Leathermouth.” Hambone shook his head, “Greaser’s gone crazy. He’s gone crazy and he’s taken the whole damn crew with him. I saw...he tried to hide it from me, because he couldn’t convince me, but I swear to God, I saw Korse in camp, I _saw_ him and none of the others will _believe_ me. Everyone else was asleep and it was the middle of the night and I got up because I thought I’d heard something, and I was walking around when he came out of Greaser’s tent.”

“You saw Korse in camp,” Ghoul nodded, “But it wouldn’t be the first crew to switch sides. Leathermouth is only in it for the violence, Hambone. If they’ve gotten bored fighting BL, I don’t doubt they’d switch sides just so they’d have more things to blow up.”

“That’s just it,” Hambone lowered his voice, looked around like he was scared there were Spy Flies around, “Ghoul, I heard him talking about the Carburetor Ports.”

Ghoul felt his blood freeze.

“No way,” He breathed, “No way, not even Greaser would-”

“He _would_ ,” Hambone shook his head, “It’s gotten worse since you left, Ghoul. So much fucking worse. It’s like he thinks he’s king or something. No one’s allowed to leave without permission, and we always have to have a partner so we can report to him on each other if one of us breaks the rules. He’s paranoid someone will be like you and Dewees and leave. We’re all fucking terrified of him but I _know_ what I saw and I know what I heard, Ghoul.”

“I believe you,” Ghoul nodded, “I believe you, Hambone. We have to tell Poison.”

“He won’t believe me,” Hambone fretted, “He won’t believe me because he hates me.”

“He’ll believe me.” Ghoul shook his head, “Especially about something like this.”

He gripped Hambone’s shoulder tightly, needing him to know how grateful he was, “You did the right thing, Hambone. Shit, you did the right thing.”

“I know,” Hambone agreed, looking jumpy and scared, “I’m going to fucking die for it but I know. I snuck out, Ghoul. He’s going to come for me and find you and it’ll be all my fault.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Ghoul shook his head, “You and me? We’re protected. It’s the fucking ports we have to worry about.”

He turned away from Hambone, hurried back to Poison and tried to keep his voice level.

“Greaser’s gone crazy, Poison. Hambone saw Korse in camp while everyone else was sleeping, coming out of Greaser’s tent. He heard them talking about the ports, Poison.”

“The ports?” Poison frowned, “Why would Greaser be worried about the trading ports?”

“Not the trading ports, Gee,” Ghoul dropped his voice, “Gerard, he heard them talking about the fucking Carburetor Ports.”

“He’s going after _motorbabies!?_ ” Poison gaped, “Has he gone _insane!?_ ”

“Yes,” Hambone nodded, coming closer, “Yes, he fucking has. After Dewees and Ghoul left, he went on lockdown for months. No one was allowed out of camp and if you tried to leave, he’d fucking shoot you dead. We were fucking terrified and then he started letting us leave again, in pairs and only if we kept tabs on each other for him. He has everyone fucking informing on each other to be _punished_ for breaking his rules. I heard them talking, I swear, and I know that he’s trying to sell out the Carburetor Ports to Better Living. Maybe for Dewees’ location in the city, maybe for the fucking shits and giggles, but I _know_ what I heard.”

“We believe you,” Poison agreed, “We need to tell the Ports. How does he even know how the-”

Poison cut himself off, a strange look passing through his features in the matter of split seconds, “Kobra, go tell Dr. D that the Carburetor Ports are in danger. Ghoul, I need to talk to you.”

Kobra hurried inside and Poison left Jet Star with Hambone, pulling Ghoul far enough that they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Ghoul, how would Greaser know the way to the Carburetor Ports?”

“How the hell would I know that, Poison?” Ghoul frowned at him, “Should we be doing this right now? Don’t you think we should be getting to the ports to make sure they’re okay?”

“Exactly, Ghoul.” Poison said gently, “No one who knows the way to the ports would ever tell. Every person on that caravan swore to secrecy, above everything else. No one in Leathermouth would ever have been on it before, or none of them would admit it to _Greaser_ , of all people.”

“So what?” Ghoul frowned at him, “You think he’s lying? Isn’t that a little reckless, Poison? What if he isn’t?”

“I don’t think he’s _lying_ , Ghoul.” Poison took his hands carefully, “I think that it would be real convenient for Greaser, who needs to know a way to the ports, that one of his most loyal followers has suddenly had a change of heart and is telling us, knowing we’d immediately go to the ports to make sure they were safe.”

Ghoul wasn’t quite sure how to react. He knew that Poison wasn’t accusing _him_ of lying, but somehow, knowing it was _Hambone_ that Poison was accusing, it still stung like it _was_ him.

“Are you saying that you think Hambone is trying to play me?”

“I’m saying that it might not be the complete truth.”

“Poison,” Ghoul took a breath because he needed to keep calm. He wasn’t being accused of anything and Poison was just being cautious.

 _He thinks that **you’re** lying_ Fun Ghoul whispered in his ear, _He thinks you can’t fucking tell when **Hambone** , of all fucking people, is lying to your face._

“Hey,” Poison caught his attention, cupped his face in both hands until Ghoul was looking at him, “Whatever shit Fun Ghoul is saying to you, it isn’t true. Do you get me, Frank? I’m not saying you’re lying, and I’m not even saying Hambone is lying. I’m just saying that we need to be very, very fucking cautious. I’m _not_ doubting you, do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Ghoul shook his head until Fun Ghoul stopped, squeezed his eyes close for a few seconds, “Yeah, I know. I know. This isn’t about me. I just...I know him, Poison. And he isn’t lying. I can see it.”

“Okay,” Poison nodded, “If you don’t think he’s lying, I don’t think he is either. But he might have someone watching him. He might have someone _s_ watching him if Korse is in on this. He might have been played in this, even. We just need to go slow and be as fucking careful as we can be.”

“Okay.” Ghoul nodded, hands coming up to rest over Poison’s against his cheeks, “I get it.”

“And if Fun Ghoul wants to drop his two cents in,” Poison leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead even though they were out in fucking public, leaned down to kiss his lips until Ghoul forgot too and leaned up on his toes to keep the connection when Poison tried to pull away. Finally, Poison laughed just a little and finished what he’d been saying,  “Tell him I love him too, but he needs to fuck off if he’s going to plant those kinds of seeds.”

“Okay,” Ghoul couldn’t help but laugh just a little, himself, squeeze Poison’s hands in his, “Okay, I think he heard.”

“Good.” Poison nodded, slowly dropping his hands, “Are we good?”

“Yeah,” Ghoul nodded a little and looked at the sand, “Sorry. Sorry, it’s just, my head,”

“Don’t apologize.” Poison shook his head, “You’re head is as wonderfully fucked as it always is and I’m never going to be upset with you about that.”

Ghoul flushed just a little and followed Poison back to Jet Star’s side, where Hambone was giving Ghoul a surprised look, like he’d witnessed the kiss and was questioning a lot of what he knew. Ghoul gave him a challenging, proud look and Hambone dropped his eyes.

“Dr. D called it in,” Kobra called, leaving the shack, “He wants us down there. He’s calling in everyone, some to catch the current caravan, some to guard the ports and some to track down Leathermouth. You know where they are?”

Hambone hesitated, “They’d have discovered my leaving by now. They’d be packing up and headed out in an hour, tops. They’re in Zone 4 and that’s two hours from here even if Dewees had been driving.”

“Fuck,” Machine cursed, having joined them while Hambone was talking, “The only tracker we’ve got is on a mission in the city. He won’t be back for days. Three at the least.”

“Shit,” Poison rubbed his face, “If we lose him now, we’ll never find him. Greaser’s a fucking snake, he’ll disappear underground until he gets his way.”

“I know a tracker,” Ghoul said suddenly, feeling an idea bloom in his chest as he looked at Hambone’s scared face, “I know two.”

“Who?” Poison asked at the same time as Hambone said “ _Oh_.”

“I haven’t exactly been keeping tabs on them,” Ghoul said slowly, “But it’s hard to avoid hearing about an assassination team like them. Their reputation has been building.”

“You don’t think they’d actually help us, do you?” Hambone said carefully, “After all this time?”

“This isn’t about us,” Ghoul shook his head, “This is about the kids. If BL gets a hold of one of those ships, all of Australia is at risk. That’s millions of motorbabies and people, the last stronghold on Earth. This is bigger than fucking Ten Rings’ death.”

“Who?” Poison repeated, sounding a little impatient, “Who are you talking about?”

“Secret Goldfish and Florida Plates. The other surviving half of Pencey Prep,” Ghoul said softly, “They go by Graveyard now.”

“You know Graveyard?” Fuck Machine raised an eyebrow, “Those two are kind of scary. And you were in a _crew_ with them?”

“More than a crew,” Hambone crossed his arms, “For a while, we were a family.”

“Could you even find them?” Poison frowned, “After all this time?”

“Yeah,” Ghoul nodded, “There’s a guy we can go to. He’s still got all of our contact information. Goldfish and Plates kind of got him after we split since me and Hambone started traveling more. He’d still be able to get into contact with them, he’s who they go through to find clients.”

“How long?” Poison asked, already looking at the shack, where Show Pony and Anonymous Witness were beginning to pull everything apart to pack away and get moving.

“A day, tops. We’ll find him.”

“Dr. D wants you guys on the front lines,” Fuck Machine shook her head, “He wants his Killjoys to warn the caravan, get it there as fast as you can and then he wants you to take position on the ports.”

“I can do it.” Ghoul said, “I’ll go. They won’t come if it’s anyone else, I don’t think. Morbid curiosity would bring them to us. It has to.”

“You can’t go alone,” Poison protested but Hambone lifted his hand.

“I’ll go with you. It’ll be... It’ll be like old times.”

“Yeah, a real fucking reunion,” Ghoul hesitated, looked at the concern on Poison’s face and punched his arm. Poison yelped and rubbed at the spot, “Stop looking at me like that. I’m not fucking fragile. I can do this, Poison. Trust me.”

“I _do_ trust you,” Poison said. His expression finished his statement, _It’s him I’m worried about._

“I can do this.” Ghoul repeated, “We’ll find Greaser and take him out. No Greaser, no leak, right?”

“Right.” Fuck Machine agreed, looking at Poison, “It’s your call, Poison.”

“Shit,” Poison rubbed his face, “Shit, you sure like to pull me in every direction at once, Ghoul. Okay. You and Hambone get your trackers, you find Greaser and you take him out.”

“And you guys get the kids on the fucking ships and get them outta’ here, okay?”

“Be fucking careful,” Jet Star shoved at Ghoul’s shoulder affectionately, “Don’t go getting yourself kidnapped.”

“I thought that was your thing,”

They hugged tight for a few seconds and then Kobra was taking a turn, squeezing Ghoul hard and muttering “Good luck,” into his shoulder. They slammed their hands together in their secret handshake and then Kobra, Jet Star and Fuck Machine were gone to find where the caravan would be in the next few hours. It had been on going for about two weeks now so it would be heading out of the Zone soon. Usually that took another week due to the twists and turns taken but if they were hitting the red line, it would only take three days at the max.

“You’re sure?” Poison asked nervously, “I can send Jet Star with you, or Kobra. I could go with you.”

“You’re needed somewhere else,” Ghoul smiled a little, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “So focus on that and let me do what I need to do, okay? I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” Poison nodded, “I know you can. This is just happening really fast.”

“Life does that,” Ghoul agreed, “Now stay fucking safe and if you fucking die while I’m gone, I’m going to die too just so I can find you and murder you, understand?”

“Promise,” Poison agreed, looking only a little reassured.

“You watch his back,” Poison pointed at Hambone, whose face drained a little of color as he nodded.

They separated after that and Ghoul watched Poison get into the Trans Am with the rest of their crew and follow Dr. D’s van, both disappearing into opposite directions.

“We’re going to Eyeball’s.” Hambone sighed, “Haven’t been there in...a real long time.”

“We need to hurry.”

They both moved to the bike and, after an awkward pause, Hambone took the wheel and Ghoul slid behind him, squeezed him to show he was ready, and off they were going, towards Zone 1. They rode hard and fast, reaching their destination in a fast time than anticipated, but not by much. Eyeball was a hermit, in the sense that he lived in an underground tunnel system that was rumored to stretch on forever, all the way under Bat City and beyond, and only came out when something or someone interested him. He was said to be the oldest man in the desert, older than Dr. D, older than even Korse. Pencey had met him on one of their more violent encounters with BL and Ghoul’s explosive had shaken up his hallways. He’d quickly grown on them and Pencey had spent quite a few hours in his chosen part of the tunnels. After the split, Ghoul had never seen him again and, as far as he knew, neither had Hambone. It was almost like Goldfish and Plates had gotten him in their split and Ghoul and Hambone had gotten the shit end of the deal.

Ghoul would never forget the location of the hatch leading into Eyeball’s tunnels, for all that it just looked like a patch of cacti in the desert, so when the seven-limbed cacti appeared he squeezed Hambone’s waist. Hambone was already slowing down.

“Eyeball!?” Ghoul called out, dismounting and knocking against the only needle-clear part of the biggest cactus, “Eyeball, it’s Ghoul! Fun Ghoul! Do you remember me!? I need your help!”

“Eyeball!” Hambone tried, “We need your help!”

They waited with bated breath, ears perked for any sound at all. Ghoul felt his heart drop.

“What if he moved, Hambone? How will we find them if Eyeball’s not here anymore?”

“Shit,” Hambone rubbed his face, “He fucking swore he’d never leave this place. Why would he leave?”

“Why, indeed.” A voice echoed from behind one of the cacti, “And who is knocking all over my cactus? Do they want to lose their fingers to my needles?”

“Eyeball!” Ghoul felt the relief in his stomach, “Shit, you have no idea how glad I am to see your face.”

“That voice...could that be Fun Ghoul? The runt who just stopped visiting me? Didn’t return my calls?”

“Eyeball, you never called me.” Ghoul said, a little fondly, “Goldfish and Plates took you in the separation.”

“So? Did I not get a say?”

“We’re sorry,” Hambone stepped forward and flinched when Eyeball turned his one eye on him next, milk cloudy as ever, head poking up from the hatch just behind the cactus.

“And _you_! Mr. Too-cool-for-grief, I should hit you with my stick!” He shook his cactus stick at him threateningly and Hambone, cowed, agreed quietly.

“Eyeball, we need help. It’s an emergency.”

“What kind of emergency can’t wait for some cactus juice?” Eyeball frowned, shaking his stick at Ghoul next.

“A real fucking bad one,” Ghoul explained, “We need your help. You’re still in contact with Goldfish and Plates, right?”

“Right,” Eyeball agreed, “ _They_ know how to drop in on an old man every once in awhile. Once a week at least, where as _you two_ , don’t drop in for _five years_ ,” and it was closer to _six_ , but Ghoul wasn’t going to point that out, “And when you do, it’s all _emergency this_ and _help me_ that, I otta’-”

“Hit us with your stick,” Hambone agreed, and then was actually hit with Eyeball’s stick, “Sorry, sorry! We just really, really need to see Goldfish and Plates. Are they here?”

“No,” Eyeball crossed his arms and even if he couldn’t see, he must have known how much their faces dropped because he gave a mighty sigh, “But I can call them. They’re just a Zone over, picking up some supplies for an old man who doesn’t leave his tunnels much.”

Goldfish and Plates hadn’t changed much, when they finally showed up.

“Eyeball!?” Plates’ voice was the first thing they heard, moments before Goldfish and Plates burst into the room.

Plates had his blaster drawn but it fell from his fingers when he caught sight of Ghoul and Hambone.

“What the _fuck_ are you two doing here,” Goldfish hissed when he shoved Plates out of the way and fell into the room.

“We need your help,” Ghoul started, standing from where he’d been sitting next to Eyeball, telling him about the years they’d been apart.

“Get out,” Plates interrupted, “Get out and don’t come back,”

“You don’t understand,” Hambone tried, “This is really fucking important-”

“I don’t want anything to do with you, with either of you, get the hell out of here before I fucking _shoot you_ ,” Goldfish snapped back and it just devolved from there, into a yelling fit that harkened back to the days before they’d split in half.

“Boys!” Eyeball finally shouted, loudly enough that it went quiet again.

“Fun Ghoul and Hambone have something _very, very_ important to speak with you on, so sit down and _listen_ before someone dies.”

Goldfish and Plates, looking quite unhappy about it, set down.

“Look.” Ghoul played with his fingers, admired the new tattoos he’d gotten a few weeks ago, “Look, the motorbaby caravan is in trouble. You heard of Leathermouth? ‘course you have. The leader is trying to sell out the Carburetor Ports, he’s on the run, and we need your fucking help to find him. You’re the best tracker around, Plates, and Goldfish isn’t too shabby either.”

“Why the fuck should we help you?” Plates crossed his arms, “We cut ties, Ghoul. You stay away from us, we stay away from you, Pencey Prep never meets again, you get it?”

“God damn it, this isn’t about Pencey Prep!” Ghoul snapped, “Millions of people could _die_ , do you understand!? Australia could be infiltrated, _children_ could be _killed_ if you don’t help us!”

Plates didn’t say anything. Goldfish looked down.

Ghoul threw his hands up, “Why the hell did I ever think you would help us!? Why did I even imagine that you had grown out of your selfish, asshole attitudes!?”

He stood up, his chair falling over with the force of it, “You all can pretend that I was the one that turned into a monster after Tim died, but don’t _fucking_ kid yourselves! I wasn’t the only one who lost his heart. Pencey Prep was a fucking crew of selfish _beasts_ and a disgrace to Ten Rings. I guess it still is. Thanks for the coffee, Eyeball, but I’ll go track this asshole my fucking self.”

He stomped out, not even caring if Hambone was able to catch up with him. He slammed the hatch door after Hambone scrambled out and angrily kicked dirt over it before turning to their bike.

“Take me to the fucking camp.” He snapped. Hambone just got onto the bike and revved the engine when Ghoul got on behind, took off with the arrow on the red line almost immediately.

A few minutes into their journey, two bikes joined them and even if neither of the drivers would look at them, Ghoul smiled under his bandana.

-

“These are relatively fresh,” Goldfish commented, standing up from where he’d been crouching next to track marks, “We should be able to follow them, provided there isn’t a storm. They’re headed towards Zone 5, maybe Zone 6. They might be doubling around later and only going that way to gain time.”

“So what do we do?” Ghoul frowned, “It sounds like all we can is to follow them.”

“Look around,” Plates scoffed, “They left so much shit. Leathermouth uses vans right? That means that they should have taken their acid rain protection but it’s all still thrown around. You don’t leave that, not even an inch, if you’re going to spend any time in Zone 5 or 6, or even 4. That means they’re going into one of the first three Zones. If they’re working with BL, it’ll probably be Zone 2 because that’s where BL operatives are heaviest. I’ll get into contact with my Zone 2 people, see if they saw anyone coming in that matches the Leathermouth description. We’ll catch up with them tomorrow, no matter what Zone they’re in. Both of us have our people on it, now, so they won’t stay disappeared for long.”

“So we should head to Zone 2,” Ghoul nodded, standing up from his own crouch.

“No, we should rest,” Plates rolled his eyes, “I don’t know about you guys, but Goldfish and I were _working_ today, so we’re beat. And it’s pretty hard to follow tracks in a desert in daylight, let alone at night. We’ll sleep and start the search first thing in the morning, when we get our replies on Leathermouth.”

Ghoul wanted to argue but he knew Plates was right. They’d never catch Leathermouth in the dark, not with tracks hours old and no idea where they were headed just yet. Graveyard had a massive network, mostly though Eyeball, and Ghoul knew he could trust it to spot Leathermouth’s vans by tomorrow morning, but it still felt like a massive waste of time to sit and sleep while he knew his crew was out finding the caravan and escorting it. The Carburetor Ports were a long journey away and the motorbaby caravan took weeks to get there on a usual path, taking twists and turns that lead it out of the sixth Zone and miles out into the desert beaches where the ports were located. It was a long, dangerous journey packed with more than just BL threats, but the wilds of the world outside of what little influence the new definition of humanity had left. He should have been with them and even though it was his idea to go after Greaser directly, he _wanted_ to be there with them.

The four of them set up a small camp within the remains of Leathermouth’s and, while Hambone build the fire under Plates supervision, Ghoul and Goldfish went searching for left behind food supplies that they could take advantage of. They hit a gold pile in one of the smaller tents and after a little digging were able to collect ten cans of beans and thirteen bottles of water. They left the rest to go through later if they felt like it and returned to the glowing fire with their goods. They ate in silence, awkward and thick, for what felt like hours before Goldfish finally broke it.

“So…” He coughed, dropping his empty can into the darkness around them, “You two look good.”

“Ghoul does,” Hambone smiled weakly, “I definitely look like shit, no need to lie for the sake of my feelings. You never did before.”

“I didn’t do a lot of things, before,” Goldfish shrugged, “Ghoul does look good, though. Better than the last time I saw you.”

Ghoul rubbed his fingers together, tossed his can to join Goldfish’s in the dark, “I found a good place for me. They take care of me, so...”

“Good,” Goldfish nodded awkwardly, “Good, I’m glad you found a place like that.”

“Yeah,” Ghoul finished lamely, tried to remember how they’d spoken before, how he’d ever had comfortable conversation with any of them.

They lapsed back into silence again.

“I’ll take first watch,” Ghoul mumbled when they were finished with their food and night had fallen properly, turning the sand bone white. The others laid down but, in what was almost a perfect parallel to the first night they’d met, Hambone was only pretending and Goldfish fell into such a light doze that he would get no rest come the next morning. The place where Ten Rings should have been was too apparent to ignore for any one of them and it stained the night starkly, even more than the moon. Washed everything a bone white, somehow bringing out the starkness of the sand. Somewhere, in those trillions of grains, was Ten Rings. Ghoul couldn’t help but wonder if he was disappointed in them, what had become of his crew. He didn’t stop thinking about it until hambone relieved him hours later.

“They’re in Zone 1.” Plates said the next morning when they’d all woken, “And we’ve got a better ride. Looks like they didn’t just leave food and ARP behind.”

He motioned towards a car, half covered in a tarp they’d mistaken for a mass of tent supplies the night before. Ghoul looked it over, deemed it workable. Safer than their bikes at least, especially Ghoul and Hambones, which had to function under both of their weights. Desert bikes were designed for speed but Zone 1 was filled with too many BL operatives to even think about going without the protection a car gave. They piled in, Ghoul in the front and Plates as his navigator, and Hambone and Goldfish in the back - like how it used to be, back in Pencey. Rings’ ghost left the space between Goldfish and Hambone feeling like a dead space, filled with something not human.

“So,” Hambone took a turn trying to break the silence, “What’s been going on with you two?”

“Graveyard,” Plates said shortly, then continued in a less aggressive voice, “I mean, we’ve been good. We started a kind of detective service. Tell us who you want to find, we find them. For a fee.”

“Most people just call you assassins,” Ghoul offered, trying to keep the conversation going. He could handle silence well enough but he was used to scabbling, playing and teasing each other in the car when he was with his crew. He fiercely missed them suddenly, Jet Star’s teasing and Kobra’s sometimes too close to the nose remarks, Poison’s laugh. It wasn’t doing any favors for his head, being back with these guys, no matter how much he’d cared for them years ago. Fun Ghoul was his instinct to survive, he knew that now, but Fun Ghoul was vicious when he was scared and being with the remnants of Pencey, being near Hambone after everything that had happened, being without the ones that made Fun Ghoul feel secure, it scare him. All Ghoul could think was that he had made a grave mistake, this was going to blow up in his fucking face and everything he’d worked so hard for, his happiness, his self esteem, his mental fucking stability, was going to come crashing down around him in the remains of Pencey and Rings’ corpse. Worse, he was going to get so many people killed - so many motorbabies, all of fucking Australia, and it was all going to be _his_ fault.

“We offer extra services,” Goldfish cut into his thoughts, “One of them just so happens to be clean up.”

“Shiny,” Hambone complimented, “It sure gives you guys a reputation.”

“What about you two? You’re still running together?”

“No,” Ghoul said sharply, fingers clenching around the wheel. Hambone flinched from the backseat but Ghoul wouldn’t take it back, “We split up. A few years ago. I haven’t seen him in awhile, but we met up yesterday to tell us what he’d heard about Leathermouth.”

“You guys ran with them, right?” Plates asked, turning to look at Ghoul, “I know your handy work and those bombs they were using for awhile, those were yours.”

“We did,” Hambone agreed, “But Ghoul escaped with a friend of his. A better friend then I was.”

“Yeah,” Ghoul mumbled, nearly shrinking into himself. It was really hard to look back on those times, see how he’d just taken all of that abuse, allowed it even asHambone had perpetuated it.

“I did some shit, some shit I’m not proud of and I fucked Ghoul over. Really, really badly. He got out, I stayed with them. He joined the Killjoys.”

“No shit?” Goldfish set up, sounding excited, “Those guys are like superheroes!”

“Yeah, they kind of are.” Ghoul agreed, “I joined up with them a few years back.”

“They make you smile.” Plates said quietly and Ghoul touched his lips, found that they were curled up and he hadn’t even noticed.

“They do,” He nodded, “They really...they do. Make me smile.”

“I don’t think we ever made you smile like that.” Goldfish said softly and the smile fell.

The conversation dropped cold like a dead body after that and they went back to quiet. Eventually Ghoul turned the radio on and carefully slid it through frequency after frequency until he found the one he was looking for.

“...nd that is the traffic report, my rock-and-rollers; next, a quick update.” Witness’ voice broke through. It wasn’t his crew, but it was someone familiar, someone who made him feel safer, and it relaxed him to hear her voice after what felt like forever.

“All motorbaby pick ups have been cancelled,” She declared over the radio waves, “Repeat, there will be no new motorbaby caravan - do not try to flag it down if you see the caravan because they are on lockdown. Repeat; they are on _lockdown_ and _will not_ stop for you. If you are in immediate danger and need help for your motorbaby, call in at our number - 555-WKIL, that’s 555-WKIL, crash queens. We’re hoping to get this mix up fixed up and our resident Frankenstein is on the case, as are his ever devoted Red Liners, so don’t fear my Zone rats: it’ll all be cleared soon. Until then, keep runnin’ because the Sand and Sun don’t take pity on our poor, unfortunate souls and BL sure as fuck ain’t gonna either! Here’s a new one from the city, courtesy of our very own Dewees,”

A song started playing, something heavy on the bass, light on the vocals and perfect for driving in silence. Ghoul tightened his hands on the wheel again and set his shoulders. They were counting on him, no matter what he or Fun Ghoul told himself, and he just had to remember. He had people now, something more steady than four other scared kids on their own. He had people waiting for him and, with his Red Liners, he couldn’t let himself fail.

“You’re the Frankenstein,” Plates eventually said into the cool silence, “The one she meant, right?”

“Yeah,” Ghoul nodded, tongue dry, “Yeah, I am. And we need to find Leathermouth, now.”

“Tell us what’s going on. The whole story.” Goldfish demanded, then must have thought better because he quickly added: “Please.”

Ghoul shot Hambone a look in the mirror and Hambone set up, scratched at his hair and started talking.

“After Ghoul and Dewees, yeah that Dewees, left, Greaser went crazy. Greaser is the leader of Leathermouth, my boss. I was kind of his...second in command. Basically, I made sure there wasn’t an uprising while he went insane. By the time I realized that he wasn’t going to just get over it, it was too late to get out. He was even suspecting _me_ of trying to betray him and I had stayed when Ghoul left. He didn’t have a punching bag anymore because Ghoul and Dewees were both gone and he just...lost it. I started seeing Dracs hanging around and it took me some time to notice but we weren’t _attacking_ them. They hovered, watched us, but we never moved no matter how many times I raised the alarm, Greaser always said no. Just wait, a bit longer. And then two nights ago...I heard something, I thought we were finally under attack so I left my tent and went to Greaser’s, I was gonna tell him and see if he even wanted to lead us when he fought back. But I didn’t even get all the way to the tent when I saw fucking Korse leave. Just walk out of Greaser’s tent. And I ducked down because I thought he’d killed him, that he’d killed Greaser, I mean. But then Greaser came out too and he said, ‘So we have a deal?’ and Korse said, ‘Find me the Carburetor Ports and we do.’ I waited until Greaser was back in his tent and I sent a message to the radioman and met up with Ghoul as soon as I could sneak away. I didn’t know who else would believe me, being a part of Leathermouth. We don’t exactly have a shiny reputation, ya’ know?”

“This is a big fucking deal, guys.” Plates said after a moment to process, “This is BL making a move on Australia.”

“We have to take Greaser out. If he isn’t tracking the caravan, then he’s trying to find someone to torture the information out of.”

“Who, though?” Ghoul frowned, “Anyone who knows the way, Dr. D trusts implicitly. No one else goes on that caravan, not unless he okays it. Who would betray him? They’ve all taken death oaths, even me and the Killjoys.”

“What’s a death oath in the face of Greaser?” Hambone frowned, shaking his head, “No one would go through that much pain for some oath.”

“They would for Australia. A death oath means that if they ever give up that secret, they’re as good as dead anyway. And whatever Greaser does to them, trust me. It won’t be as bad as what Poison would do to them if he found out they gave it up. Greaser has to know that.” Ghoul shook his head, thinking hard, “He isn’t as stupid as he looks or acts. He has to know he wouldn’t ever be able to get the secret out of someone on the caravan, presently or not.”

“What about someone _not_ on the caravan?” Goldfish breathed, “Someone who knows the way, someone who knows but isn’t on the radioman’s payroll.”

“Who would know the way but _not_ work for Dr. D? They’d have to be older than the fucking sand, to know something that’s been secret since Dr. D stepped into power.”

“He isn’t immortal,” Ghoul shook his head, “He’s not even fifty.”

“How many Zone punks live to be fifty, Ghoul?” Plates scoffed, “Our life expectancy isn’t exactly eighty like it was a hundred years ago, man. Most of us are lucky to make it to forty, and even then, most of ‘em are cowards or smart enough to stay out of BL’s way.”

“Yeah, but he only came up twenty years ago. There are hundreds of punks older than twenty. The four of us, for example,” Hambone offered.

“How many one and two year olds do you think were running the fucking motorbaby caravan, Hambone?” Plates shook his head, “No, they would have been older. At least fifteen before they could go on as protection, and usually someone older with them to keep on eye on them.”

“This is useless!” Ghoul cried, “What difference does it make? If we catch him before he finds someone, then it won’t even be an issue.”

“Because if he’s got someone in mind, we can find him all the faster,” Goldfish flicked his head, just like he used to do, “Think, Ghoul. Someone who’s been here longer than Dr. D, someone who would know the motorbaby caravan or the location of the ports, at least. Someone who _hasn’t_ taken your stupid oath. Someone he knew about that not even your precious Party Poison and his goon patrol would know about.”

“Someone like the oldest man in the desert.” Ghoul said slowly, “Someone like Eyeball, you mean?”

“Did you ever tell him about Eyeball?” Plates turned to Hambone, “Hambone?”

“No, I don’t remember ever telling him about him,” Hambone shook his head, “But Eyeball isn’t exactly a well kept secret. Everyone who runs in Zone 1 to 3 knows who he is, and it isn’t hard to find out about the rumors. The Killjoys and Dr. D usually stay away from those Zones since they’re so active when they aren’t on missions themselves.”

“There are no death oaths against telling someone about where he is, either,” Goldfish clutched the seat behind Ghoul’s head.

Ghoul stepped on the gas and adjusted course. Worse than there being no death oaths against revealing Eyeball was that Ghoul and Hambone might have led them right to him. He should have listened to Poison. Had they even checked for someone following them?

-

There was a bike in the sand when they squealed up to the small crowd of now-broken and singed cacti and the hatch leading into the punker had been left open.

Ghoul had his blaster out before he’d even stopped the car and he was first out, letting the others figure themselves out while he cautiously approached the hatch and looked inside. It was dark, pitch black because Eyeball could only see out of one fucking eye and carried his own lamp with him and Ghoul took a leap of faith, climbing into the hatch as quietly as he could after a signal to the others. He checked it out quickly, finding the emergency candle and lighting it with his firestarter - old and rusted but as familiar as the charm around his neck - before he held it in every direction. There was no noise so he gave the go ahead and Goldfish, Hambone and finally Plates dropped in beside him. Hambone found the emergency lamp and took the candle from Ghoul, lit the wick so that light would explode and illuminate more than the first foot in front of him.

 _Left, right?_ Goldfish signed at Ghoul, his fingers casting garish shadows on the concrete walls of the tunnel. Ghoul motioned to himself and Goldfish and pointed right, then to Plates and Hambone and pointed left, looked for agreement. Goldfish took the candle and Ghoul took point, blaster raised and ready at any moment to fire. They all looked at each other for a second and then the lights were blown out and they were left in darkness. The four of them had spent too much time in the tunnels, knew every twist and turn and anything new was easy steered around by Goldfish. Ghoul trusted that he wouldn’t let him be pulled down, wouldn’t give away their position if there was still someone to give their position away _too_. Had it been Hambone at his side, Ghoul wasn’t sure he would have been able to do this, but Goldfish and he had been almost as close, the two of them and Rings’ teasingly fucking with each other and the rest of Pencey and even Eyeball on occasion. Had Ghoul been able to feel at the time of his departure, he would have missed Goldfish most of all. That, and Goldfish had never held him down and purposefully triggered a panicking attack for the amusement of his leader.

Ghoul might have still been a little bitter.

Goldfish snagged his shirt and he stopped, listened hard. Goldfish had always had better ears than him. Readily enough, Ghoul began to make out voices. It was a voice he’d hoped never to hear again but there it was. Greaser. He followed the sounds, feeling Goldfish behind him, at his back, every step, until he came to a corner. The room behind the corner was kind of like the living space of the tunnel, a big room with all of the amenities Eyeball couldn’t live without - namely a table he’d had long enough that he’d forgotten where he’d gotten it, an armchair for him to rest and sleep in and a kettle to heat water for his seemingly never-ending supply of coffees and teas. Ghoul could vividly remember drinking cups of coffee in the room, watching Ten Rings and Eyeball dance around each other to old records Eyeball had stored before he’d lost a lot of his hearing and donated them to the radioman. The bright light only confirmed that someone else was in there, in the place they shouldn’t have been. Bright light hurt Eyeball’s remaining eye, so if he had light at all, it was dimmed.

“Just _tell me_ , old man,” Greaser spat. There was a sound, the smack of a fist against frail skin and bone, and Ghoul clutched his gun. He tapped his message, _Go get H and P_ , against Goldfish’s hand, hoped he remembered and was relieved when he received the familiar confirmation tap against his neck and then Goldfish was gone, confidently gliding through pitch black hallways to find the rest of his team.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Eyeball’s voice broke through and Ghoul wanted to _kill_ Greaser for making him sound like that, “I don’t know the trail the caravan takes now. It’s changed since my day, and the ports, well...this old mind, it had a lot of trouble recalling things nowadays.”

“Lets see if I can straighten it out for you,” Greaser snapped. There was the sound of a blaster charging up to shoot and Ghoul knew he needed to wait for the others, for back up, because Greaser was bigger and stronger than him and he’d have to protect Eyeball on his own, but he couldn’t stand back and just let Greaser _shoot_ him either. He wouldn’t let some piece of shit kill someone he cared about, not again.

“Get away from him, Greaser!” He called, stepping around the corner with his blaster raised. He found Greaser with his eyes quickly and aimed his zap, darting his stare between both the madman with the blaster and the beaten, bloody old man on the ground.

“Ghoul!” Both Greaser and Eyeball said at the same time, but Ghoul didn’t pay any attention to Greaser, no more than he needed to to keep his aim lethal.

“You okay, Eyeball?”

“I’m fine,” Eyeball nodded, carefully standing up. He used the table to support himself, hobbled to the wall, behind Ghoul. Greaser’s blaster didn’t follow his movements, his eyes set on Ghoul. They looked rapid, like the eyes of the coyotes Ghoul would see sometimes, hunting for food or ready for a fight. Greaser didn’t look hungry, but Ghoul couldn’t help but hope a little bit that he was, that this wouldn’t have to end in Ghoul killing him. Ghoul didn’t want to kill people, outside of BL, anymore. Not even Greaser. He wasn’t that person anymore, didn’t have to be that person anymore. He would if he had to, but he didn’t _want_ to.

“You,” Greaser _hissed_ , “Fun Ghoul.”

“That’s me,” Ghoul agreed, “You remember me, I see.”

Greaser’s blaster turned and pointed itself at Ghoul in the blink of an eye and there they were, at a deadlock.

“How could I forget that fucking face. You’re the monster. Leathermouth’s own Drac.”

“Not anymore,” Ghoul snapped, “I’m not Leathermouth’s _anything_ anymore.”

“You got here faster than I thought you would,” Greaser suddenly laughed and dropped his blaster, “But what did I expect from Hambone? I knew he’d betray me in the end, just like Dewees and you did.”

“I didn’t _betray_ you, asshole,” Ghoul’s hand didn’t fall.

 _Shoot him_ , Fun Ghoul snapped into his ear, _Shoot him and end this!_

_You don’t **have** to anymore, Ghoul. We aren’t anyone’s guard dog, not even Dr. D’s. You don’t have to kill him._

Ghoul was torn, didn’t know what to do, but his hand didn’t shake. He didn’t _want_ to, but he _would._

“You and Dewees, you undermined me in front of them all. You think you can just leave? You think you can just _leave_ , Fun Ghoul!?”

Greaser took a step forward and suddenly they were in the desert and the whole crew was surrounding the two of them and Dewees was gone. Hambone was behind Greaser, jeering just as loudly, if not louder, than the rest of the crew and Ghoul was alone. Ghoul was alone again, his head was empty, Fun Ghoul was gone, Frank was gone, everything was _gone_ and he was all alone. Alone in the middle of a circle with _Greaser_ and he didn’t know what to do. He was alone, and young and scared and so, so fucking _alone_.

“Shoot me, you piece of shit!” Greaser yelled, taking another step forward, then another. “Shoot me before I take you out like the fucking _monster_ you are!” Ghoul _wanted_ to, he wanted to _so bad_ but he couldn’t get his finger to move. He couldn’t get his hand to move, his arm, his feet, nothing. He was _alone_ and all he could see was Bob being dragged away from him, his mom being ripped apart right in front of him, Chain Saw’s face the first time he saw Sensation and Loudmouth kissing, Ten Rings the second before he finally died, the look in Pencey’s eyes when they looked at his dry cheeks and sandy hands from grave digging, Dewees admitting that he was leaving, Hambone’s face when he told him Pencey was _his fault_ , Poison snapping at him, Poison’s face when Fuck Machine told him that his family was all dead, the last time he ever saw Poison, driving _away_ from him, _leaving_ him behind to go on some dangerous, possibly booby trapped journey with upwards of thirty children.

Greaser raised his blaster again, spit out a ‘good riddance, you coward’ and for the split second between the detonator and the explosion, Ghoul could only think of how sad the people that had come to care about him would be when they heard he’d fucking died like a coward: Poison, Kobra, Jet Star, Dr. D, Witness, Fuck Machine, Poetic Tragedy, Shallow Believer, Born Quitter, Sold Soul, maybe even Eyeball, Goldfish, Plates and Hambone lifted a blaster from behind Greaser, not jeering anymore, and squeezed the trigger.

-

When Ghoul woke up in the dark room, he thought he was dead.

“Not dead,” Frank said gently, running his fingers through Ghoul’s hair soothingly. Ghoul didn’t say anything, just rested his head in Frank’s lap and let him run his fingers through his hair.

“Just an idiot.” Fun Ghoul agreed from Ghoul’s other side. Some of the thread that had been gone from his mouth had returned, Ghoul knew he’d regressed, but he didn’t look angry, like he was going to beat the shit out of one of them again.

“It’s over now, Ghoul You can wake up.”

“I’ve kept you safe,” Fun Ghoul agreed, reaching over to rest his fingers over Ghoul’s chest, where Bob’s charm rested, “You can wake up.”

“Wake up, Ghoul,” Frank said again, but his voice sounded different, sounded more like -

When Ghoul woke up in a dark room, he thought he was dead. For real this time.

“Thank the Sun,” A voice breathed in relief and it sounded like Plates, so Ghoul tried to focus his eyes. He realized that he that he’d had his eyes closed, so he opened them and he wasn’t in a dark room, just dimmed and quiet. He was laying on something marginally softer than what he remembered the grounds of the tunnels he was in to be but he didn’t think too hard about it.

“What…” He tried to groan out. It hurt his throat though, he he took the bottle offered gratefully and downed half of it so he could speak, “What the fuck happened?”

“You fainted like a bitch,” Hambone answered, helping him sit up, “And I killed Greaser.”

“Did I...did I act weird? Or was I out?”

“You were gone,” Hambone said quietly, “But you weren’t out, the whole time. You’ve been...different for about an hour.”

“I’m back,” Ghoul shook his head, “I’m sorry. I’m back.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hambone shook his head, “You didn’t talk much. Just set there and stared into space. You’re good now?”

“Tell me what happened,” Ghoul nodded, “I...went somewhere in my head.”

“Goldfish found us,” Plates said, “And we went to find you from the opposite direction. We were gonna trap him. But when we got there, you were just sort of...standing there. You had your zap and it was pointed at him, but you weren’t moving and he was getting closer. You looked terrified, like he’d really fucked you up.”

“So I shot him,” Hambone finished.

“And he bled all over you and cried and then died.” Goldfish added, “It was awesome.”

“Awesome?” Ghoul said quietly, trying to remember. It was all so hazy. He remembered being with Greaser, and then Greaser had screamed and it was like...like he’d flashbacked through everything, his whole fucking journey since he’d came into the desert, all while staring into the mouth of Greaser’s blaster. He remembered Hambone.

“I remember you,” He finally said, “Hambone, I remember you shooting him.”

“That’s because I _did_.” Hambone smiled a little, “He was gonna shoot you, man, what else was I supposed to do?”

Ghoul didn’t know how to reply to that so he just shook his head, “Eyeball? Where is he?”

“Sleeping,” Goldfish supplied, “He was pretty beat up but nothing that old Zone punk can’t handle. He’ll be back to normal in a few hours. It isn’t safe for him here anymore. If Greaser blabbed to anyone that he knows the way to the Carburetor Ports, he’ll be swamped by BL in no time.”

“We’ll take him to Dr. D.” Fun Ghoul agreed, rubbing his head a little, “Anyone seen my communicator?”

“Here,” Hambone handed the rectangle to him and he tapped it on, found the number he needed and called.

There was a steady ring, the beginning of some song or another, and then a familiar voice saying, “You’ve reached 555-WKIL, what can I do ya’ for?”

“Witness,” he coughed, voice steady with relief, “Greaser’s dead.”

“Ghoul?”

“Yeah,” Ghoul couldn’t help but smile, “He’s dead and he didn’t get the location.”

“Where are you, babycakes?” She laughed, “Get your ass back here.”

“We’re in Zone 1. What do I do with the rest of Leathermouth?”

“I’ve got them rounded up,” Plates offered, “My contact picked them up while you were out.”

“Bring them with you,” Witness said, “Dr. D will want a word with them.”

“And I’ve got a favor,” Ghoul stretched a little, felt his muscles tense and relax as he stretched them out, “One of my friends is in danger now. I want to bring him to the radioman, see if he can help him out.”

“You know it, baby,” She agreed, “We’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Yeah,”

He hung up and pocketed the device, “Let’s get out’ta this place, guys.”

Eyeball didn’t get out much, but when he did, he used a wagon much like Ghoul remembered the Ramones crew to have. They packed it with his three irreplaceable things, strapped it all down and made a pallet for him to rest on and then attached the wagon to the car and, after making sure he was comfortable, set back off for Zone 6, where Dr. D had set up shop in a different quadrent.

The ride was quiet for the first three hours, less an awkward silence and more of a building suspense, like something was going to happen and it was carefully storing momentum so it wouldn’t run out of steam halfway through and disappear forever. By the time they hit Zone 5, Goldfish was ready to get the ball rolling.

“Ghoul,” He said quietly to catch his attention. Ghoul was driving again, but only because he was the only one who knew where Dr. D was and for all that he’d already slept, he wanted to join Eyeball in the wagon and sleep for awhile longer.

“Hm?” He tilted his head just a little to show he was listening, eyes on the sand in front of them. It hadn’t been _easy_ , exactly, but it had been simpler than Ghoul could have hoped, to stop Greaser before he gave BL the in to Australia they’d been searching for for a hundred years now, and he wasn’t convinced that it really was the end. Not yet, anyway.

“Sorry we weren’t much help.” Goldfish grinned, “I know you called us in to track for you,”

“You guys were great. We never would have figured out he was after Eyeball in time,” Ghoul shook his head, “Shit, man. I wouldn’t have even thought of it. You two saved a lot of fucking people today.”

“Thanks, man,” Plates smiled, rolling up his window so they could all hear a little easier, “But that isn’t the only thing we wanted to apologize for. We’re sorry for Tim’s death.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Ghoul swerved just a little, quickly righted the wheel and checked behind them to make sure the wagon hadn’t toppled over, “Shit, man, what?”

“I said it was your fault,” Hambone set up, his fingers playing with each other like they always did when he got nervous, “I said it was your fault because you were the first one that left. I thought you’d checked out, emotionally. I thought you’d give up when he died and I _hated_ you for it, Ghoul. I hated that you got to leave and I couldn’t. But I realize now...you didn’t leave. You were grieving in your own way and if we’d just been there for you, we could have stayed together. It would have been hard, but we could have done it. You dug that grave _by yourself_ , Ghoul. You were always there, even when we were too overcome to see it and you buried him so we wouldn’t have to, but all of us were so caught up in our own anger and grief to see that you were hurting too. You didn’t just check out, you _had_ to draw into yourself, to fix the wounds he caused when he died, and we didn’t see that. All of us were too selfish to see that,”

“Don’t,” Ghoul said shakily, “Don’t do this to me, Hambone, I really can’t do this,”

“You didn’t kill Pencey Prep, Ghoul, we did. You didn’t kill Tim either. You made him comfortable and you made him feel loved when he died. He died _smiling_ because you were there with him, Ghoul.” Plates grabbed his wrist to help him keep the wheel steady, Ghouls’ hands were trembling too hard to do it on his own, and continued, “I’m so sorry we left you alone with that, Ghoul. I’m so sorry we were too lost in our own blackness to see you drowning. We were supposed to be your family and we let you down more than I can ever say.”

“Me most of all.” Hambone agreed, “I was...I was so fucking angry, Ghoul, I was so angry and jealous and hurt, and Greaser just made me feel vindicated, like you deserved whatever we gave you because I thought it was all your fault. But it _wasn’t_ , man, none of it was your fault. It was all ours. You only ever took care of us. You saved us when we couldn’t, you buried Tim because we couldn’t, you killed when I couldn’t, and you took everything I and Leathermouth could throw at you because you thought you deserved it - but you _didn’t_ , Ghoul. You, out of all of us, you were the best friend Tim could have had at his side. You’re the best friend any of us could have at our side in our final moments. I’m so sorry I fucking forgot that for so long, Ghoul. I’m so sorry I ruined the trust you had in me.”

Goldfish nodded, squeezing the seat behind Ghoul, “I’m sorry I left, too. I shouldn’t have. I should have talked Plates into coming back home and working it out but I was scared and angry and I just missed him so fucking much that I didn’t see what it was going to be like all on our own. I missed you guys so much and I was too proud to try and find you again. You helped us find each other, Ghoul, Pencey Prep was born because of you but it _died_ because we were too blind to see that you needed us and we let you down. We let you down and we lost you and I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.”

Ghoul stopped the car. He stopped the car and put his head on the wheel and tried to breath through the lump in his throat, the burning in his eyes. He felt fingers, familiar but unplaceable on his shoulder, more pressing against his arm and back. He swore he felt fingers brush at the tears on his cheek, cool and whisper light and smelling of Ten Rings and it broke him and he cried.

They made it to Zone 6 by dusk and were pulling up to the shack by nightfall. They would have been there sooner, but they’d had to take an hour for the Ghoul-and-Friends-Breakdown hour, and then had a stop to make at an old, familiar saloon to say hello and goodbye to a spot in the back where a single, small cactus grew instead of a headstone.

“Ghoul!” Witness laughed when they piled out of the car, “We missed you!”

“I was gone for like two days,” He scoffed, but accepted her hug, hugged her back tightly and nearly lifted her off her toes. He’d missed her, he’d missed his friends, for all that he enjoyed being back with Pencey.

“Two days too long. Poison has been calling in constantly asking for you. The last ship pulled out nearly three hours before you called so we’ll have to send a messenger telling Australia the threat’s been neutralized. They’ll probably cease activity in this area for a few months, make sure it’s all really clear, send some decoys, and then it’ll go back to normal. We haven’t had a scare like that in awhile.”

“When will they be back?” Ghoul couldn’t help back ask. He was anxious to see his crew again. Two days felt like two days too long with a situation like this happening.

“Day after tomorrow, probably.” Dr. D called out, voice happy and pleased to see him.

“Hey, radioman.” Ghoul couldn’t help but slap their hands together when Dr. D offered, even if he usually snubbed him for a laugh, “You look good.”

“You too, Frankenstein. Very shiny.”

“It was a good ride home.” He admitted, looking over his shoulder, “Actually, Dr. D. I have some people I want you to meet.”

“Yeah? Show me the way, rock-and-roller, and meet these people, I will.”

Ghoul stepped aside and motioned to his new carload, who finally all exited the car.

“You might know Hambone. He’s reformed, promise.”

“I trust you,” Dr. D said, amused, and shook Hambone’s nervous hand, “We all make mistakes. If I can forgive Dewees, I can forgive you, too, kid.”

Hambone made a stuttering, stumbling apology and moved away for Goldfish to sweep in much more confidently and shake Dr. D’s hand.

“Wow, I’ve listened to your show for years, radioman!” Goldfish laughed, “I love Fuck Machine, she’s my favorite, but you’re a close third! Witness, of course, outshines all but her crew sister.”

“Ain’t that the way,” Witness agreed, but she still looked a little charmed when he kissed her hand.

“You’re _my_ favorite,” Plates shoved Goldfish out of the way and shook her hand, “He’s got a terrible ear, you see. Can’t find the beauty behind a good drum beat.”

“You’re a drummer?” Witness smirked at him and Ghoul laughed at the hearts he saw in Plates’ eyes.

“Well, no, but I do appreciate the instrument. And the instrumentalist.”

“Wow,” Goldfish scoffed, “He plays the keyboard and he hasn’t touched a drum set a day in his life.”

“And you have?” Hambone couldn’t help but shoot back and that set the three of them off.

“Quite a set of characters,” Dr. D said from aside Ghoul, watching the three of them arguing over Witness, each of them occasionally taking her hand from the other. She looked more amused than flattered and Ghoul was more worried about whoever won the right to flirt with her than she, herself.

“They’re my old crew. You haven’t even met my favorite yet. Dr. D, meet Eyeball.”

Ghoul pulled the sheet away to show Eyeball, who had somehow moved to sitting in the chair strapped to the floor of the wagon while still sleeping, “He’s the oldest man in the desert, they say. Might have a few tricks to show Australia.”

“Australia?” Dr. D bit back a laugh until the curtain had been dropped and they’d moved away, “You want to send him to Australia?”

“I want to send them all to Australia.” Ghoul admitted, “Eyeball isn’t safe here anymore. He’s too old to defend himself and if Greaser could find him, Korse will be able to, too. Plates and Goldfish, they go where he goes. Hambone...he doesn’t have anything anymore. Pencey’s always been his true crew, even when he was running with Leathermouth. It would be cruel to rip him away from them just to punish him. Too cruel.”

“So you want me to send them with the next load?” Dr. D frowned thoughtfully.

“I want you to send them with the message,” Ghoul corrected, “The faster they’re out of the desert, the better. I’m asking as a favor, Dr. D.”

“Oh, don’t get all cry-y,” Dr. D pointed a finger at him, “But remember this, Fun Ghoul. A favor from Dr. D gets a favor in return.”

“Of course,” Ghoul laughed, “So you’ll take them?”

“I’ll send them tonight,” Dr. D agreed, “We have a messenger ship at the ready and a captain who will take a small crew back to Australia. It’s a one way trip though, Ghoul. Do they know that?”

Ghoul tried not to look to shifty, “They will. Don’t worry, Dr. D. They’ll be ready. When do you want them to go?”

“Let’s say in an hour.” Dr. D gave him, “That’s how long it’ll take my last desert queen who can lead them there to get here. Then they’ll be off with a message.”

“Thanks, radioman. This means a lot to me.”

“Just remember this,” Dr. D pointed at him again, “You’re not gonna like what I ask in return.”

“Anything,” Ghoul promised, “No complaints.”

“Not even I’d ask that of Party Poison,” Dr. D joked and they both laughed, even if hearing his name brought a pang of _miss you_ to Ghoul’s stomach.

“Okay, let me go get them all together and break the news. They’ll be ready, sir.”

“Don’t sir me, you shit,” Dr. D slapped his thigh, “Get away, motorbaby. Go tell your friends about their one way ticket to paradise.”

Ghoul smiled again and when Dr. D had returned to the shack, he wandered over to the wagon and gently shook Eyeball awake.

“Whazzat?” Eyeball struck out with his cane and only a long forgotten reflex saved Ghoul from a braining by his cane, “Ghoul? That you?”

“It’s me,” Ghoul agreed, “I got somethin’ I gotta talk to you about. Let me get the others and I’ll tell you.”

“Hurry it up, then.” Eyeball wagged his cane at him, “I want my beauty rest. It takes _work_ to look this good at my age.”

Ghoul laughed again and stepped back to call the others over. They looked reluctant to leave Witness, but she shooed them off and they walked over in various states of pouting.

“What?” Plates whine at him, “I almost had her where I wanted her!”

“Yeah, right!” Goldfish scoffed, “She was playing you. She was obviously into me.”

“Yeah, right. She had eyes for me and me only,” Hambone stuck his nose in the air and Ghoul smiled again, couldn’t help the little bubble of nostalgia. He’d missed them, for all that thinking of Pencey had fucking hurt.

“Guys,” He started, “I have something really important to talk to you about.”

Plates looked him over a few times and then climbed into the wagon and took a seat. Hambone and Goldfish joined him and, once the four of them were comfortable, Ghoul took a breath.

“I’ve gotten Eyeball a ticket out of the desert. He’s going on the messenger ship to Australia.”

“What?” Plates frowned, looking to Eyeball, “But…”

“He needs to get out of the desert, Korse is never going to leave him alone now that he knows he knows a way to the ports. Australia is the safest place for him. And he’ll be able to help out there, because he’s so knowledgeable on everything.”

“We’ll never see you again,” Goldfish said quietly, looking at Eyeball.

Eyeball reached out and Goldfish grabbed his hand, squeezed.

“The deserts for young people,” Eyeball admitted, “I never thought I’d live this long. Australia… it sounds nice. It’s been so long since I’ve run with the motorbabies.”

“And...and it doesn’t have to just be him.” Fun Ghoul said softly, bringing their attention back to him, “Dr. D agreed to give you all passage on the ship. All four of you can go to Australia. They always need more people who aren’t motorbabies. Warriors who can fight, people to care for the kids. Plates, you’re a master tracker. Goldfish, you know more about guns and weapons than even me or the Way in my crew. Hambone...Hambone, this is your chance to be with your crew again. No more bad guys, no more Leathermouth, no more guys like Greaser. Pencey Prep like it could have been.”

“But leave the desert?” Hambone looked down, at the bone washed sand, “This is my home. It’s all I’ve ever known. It runs in my veins.”

“Us, too.” Goldfish agreed, “I don’t know, Ghoul...leave? And never come back?”

“It’s one way,” Ghoul agreed, “But I think it’s best. You’ll never be free, here. Not like before. BL will always be on your tail, never leave you alone. I’m used to that, it’s what I chose to do. You guys were pulled into this. You can stay with Eyeball, protect the last stronghold on Earth. Restart in Australia.”

“Could we have the night to think about it?” Hambone hesitated, “This is a huge decision to make, Ghoul.”

“The queen will be here in forty five minutes,” Ghoul said gently, “She has to leave tonight to get the messege to Australia as soon as possible. You have until then to decide.”

“Shit,” Plates scrubbed his face, “Eyeball, what do you think?”

“I think this is your decision to make,” Eyeball blinked at them blindly, his one good eye half closed for most of those blinks, “I’m much too old for this place, my boys. Australia would be a dream to me, I’m sure. For the rest of you...Well, that’s for you to decide.”

“...I want to stay with Eyeball,” Goldfish finally admitted, “We’ve been with you this long, I’m not gonna wimp out just because you’re getting grumpy in your old age.”

“If you leave then I leave, too.” Plates said, looking between Goldfish and Eyeball.

Hambone didn’t say anything for a long time, but Ghoul had known what his answer would be the moment Goldfish said yes.

When the crash queen showed up, they were ready to go.

“We’ll write, if we can. Find a communicator.” Plates mumbled, looking a little lost.

“Hambone has my number,” Ghoul agreed, feeling the same.

“I just...It sucks, that we just found each other again and now...I didn’t even get to meet your boyfriend.”

“Poison isn’t my _boyfriend_ ,” Ghoul flushed, “We’re not motorbabies!”

Plates laughed and squeezed him into a hug, “I fucking missed you, Fun Ghoul.”

Ghoul smiled into his shoulder and hugged him back, hard. When they were done, Goldfish pushed Plates out of the way and hugged him even tighter. He was crying and trying to hide it so Ghoul didn’t mention it, just hugged him back hard, hard, hard, and tried to keep his own burning eyes from overflowing.

“I love you, man,” Goldfish sniffed, “And I fucking missed you and I’m so glad I got to see you again.”

“I love you, too,” Ghoul whispered, “And I’m glad we got to see each other again. You’ll love Australia. I hear there are dinosaurs there.”

“Dinosaurs? What are those?”

“Ask when you get there. They have hundreds of books. You’ll love it.”

“Really?” Goldfish smiled wetly, “That sounds amazing. I’ve never seen books for _real_ before.”

Eyeball didn’t move from his chair so Ghoul got into the wagon and let himself be pulled into a strong hug. He squeezed back with as much emotion as he could because he knew Eyeball couldn’t take that much.

“You take care of yourself. And you make sure that crew of yours takes good care of you, too. I hear one word of discontent and I’ll damn well sail myself back here to give them the what-for.” he waved his cane around and Ghoul laughed and agreed.

“I’ll make sure they know. They’ll be shaking in their boots.”

“I was a hurricane in my day. You ever been in an acid hurricane, boy? It’s not fun.”

“It doesn’t sound it.” Ghoul smiled, couldn’t keep the fondness from his voice, “Thanks, for everything, Eyeball. You, uh. You helped a lot.”

“Shut your gob before you start catchin’ flies with that honey.” Eyeball squinted at him, “Now get on out’ta my wagon so I can go back to sleep.”

“Yes, sir,” Ghoul agreed and only laughed harder when he was shoved out of the wagon with the cactus cane.

He fell into Hambone, who caught him and helped him right himself before he cleared his throat.

“Here,” He said and handed Ghoul a shirt. It was white, stained but well loved. The words _FUCK YOUR CREW_ were splayed across the chest and the sleeves had been ripped of. Ghoul couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out. He and Hambone could never go back to what they once were, it was too much bad blood and too much hurt between them, but it didn’t seem as huge a divide now.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us? Australia could use a little Pencey.” Hambone offered, like he already knew what Ghoul would say.

“You know I can’t. I’ve got these guys with Dr. D, and the Killjoys, and my revenge.”

“And Poison,” Hambone said softly, “You must really love him.”

Ghoul didn’t reply but they both knew he really, really did.

Even with all the badness between them, the hurt and anger they would probably never completely let go of, it didn’t feel _wrong_ when Ghoul hugged him tight and said, “I forgive you.”

Hambone hugged back hard, didn’t let go for a long time, and then he was hiding his face and moving away.

They all piled into the car and Ghoul wasn’t sure what to do about the ball in his throat that was stopping him from letting them go when he joined Witness by the shack, a ways away. It didn’t feel complete, like he’d forgotten something. Something he needed to tell them.

“Did you forget to tell them something, Frankenstein?” She asked when she noticed his expression.

“Oh!” He hit his own forehead and hurried to the door of the driver’s seat, giving the annoyed crash queen who had been headed that way a _just one more minute, thanks_ look.

“I forgot to tell you,” he gasped out, feeling out of breath, just from that few seconds of running. Probably from trying to breath around the tears in his chest.

“Tell us what?” Hambone blinked at him from the passenger seat, Goldfish and Plates in the back and looking at him curiously.

“My name,” He gasped, “My name. It’s-It’s Frank. Frank Iero. I’m from-I’m from the city. And you guys. You made me realize that it was okay to be happy, even when it ended up hurting even more. Pencey will always mean something to me and I-I’ll never forget any of you. I fucking love you guys!”

Pencey Prep, 2.0, drove away ten minutes later, disappeared from his life for the last time. Not a one of them had a dry face, not even Ghoul and no matter how hard he sobbed when they’d disappeared he couldn’t get the smell of Ten Rings out of his nose, not until the dust cloud of the Dr. D supplied car had settled against the bone of the desert once again.

-

He spent the next day sleeping and helping Dr. D herd calls and direct traffic. There was a new letter from Dewees asking what all the hullabaloo about motorbabies and Australia was about, so Ghoul set and wrote a long, coded message to him explaining the situation. He finished it off by asking what Dewees had been up to in the city and sealed it to be sent with the next Tumbleweed to pass by. His handwriting had improved since he'd first started writing and he could fit a lot more onto a single page now, and it was easier to read. Dewees had improved, too. Ghoul hoped Dewees would come for a visit soon, a hope that he'd held secret since almost before Dewees had even left. It was a hope, though, and one he wasn't scared to hold in his chest anymore.

Dr. D had told him not to expect the Killjoys back until late the next day so when the dust cloud first appeared near dusk, he hadn’t been very interested. Had it not been too dark to see the familiar paintjob, he would have been the first one outside. As it stood, he was busy in the back of the shack, repairing a broken pane that had been destroyed in a wayward game of catch between Goldfish and Hambone the night before when the motor cut in the front of the shack. There were no shrieks of alarm or angry exclamations so he didn’t bother going to check it out. Instead, he finished cleaning the new glass and was searching for where the sand had hidden his shirt when there were crunching foot steps behind him and a wolf whistle. He jolted up, turned around, ready to punch someone in the teeth, when he spotted neon blood hair and small teeth twisted up in a big grin. He had a new cut across his cheek and he looked tired and ready for a meal but it was _Gerard_ and Frank was on him without a word, kissing him hard and desperate. They shoved against each other until Gerard had him pinned to the wall of the shack and he didn’t care if he brought the whole thing down after them, he just needed to feel Gerard against him and solid and real and _alive_.

“Shit,” Frank panted when Gerard finally pulled away to press kisses against his neck, “Shit, Gerard, I missed you so fucking much,”

“Frankie, Frankie, Frankie,” Gerard _purred_ into his skin, “I’m ready to go home, baby.”

“Me too,” Frank agreed breathlessly, “Me, too, we should leave right now and Kobra and Jet Star can come home later, okay?”

“Sounds good to me, sweetheart,” Gerard agreed helplessly and grabbed his hand, tugged him into the Trans Am while Fuck Machine and Witness were reuniting and Jet Star and Kobra were talking to Dr. D. Frank would greet them later, he’d give them both hugs and tell them about his new adventures with Pencey and tell them all about Eyeball and everything, but first he needed to fuck how much he missed him into Gerard so Gerard would never leave that long again, or agree with Frank’s plans if they involved separating them. And Gerard only ever called him ‘sweetheart’ when he was gagging for it as hard as Frank was. They needed to leave right then.

Luckily for them, Kobra and Star just looked amused when Poison told them he’d meet them at home and _home_ was only twenty minutes away. They could barely keep their hands off of each other long enough to get there and once the freezer door was closed, all bets were off.

-

Frank and Gerard didn’t leave the freezer for the rest of the night or most of the day after, but eventually Gerard’s need for food and water and Frank’s need to piss and find something to brush his teeth with so his mouth stopped tasting like come drove them from their self imposed exile. Mikey and Ray were sitting at the table when Frank returned from his bathroom activities and there was a pot of steadily cooling coffee begging to be drank and a whole carton of cigarettes that looked like a present to Frank if there ever was one.

He set heavily and then hissed and got back up, set back down gingerly and made some sort of noise until Mikey rolled his eyes and poured him a mug of warm coffee, which he drank gratefully before he spoke.

“Hey, guys. ‘missed you.”

“Missed you, too, asshole.” Mikey crossed his arms, “Where was our welcome home?”

“Well, I let your brother fuck my ass, but if you-”

“Ew!” Mikey yelled, covering his ears, “Frank! Gross!”

Frank laughed, grinning at him until Mikey sneered and crossed his arms again, “Seriously, though. I’m glad you guys are okay. Anything interesting happen?”

“We killed a bunch of Dracs that tried to follow us, got the caravan to the ports and then hightailed it home because Gerard got a bug up his ass about leaving you without back up.”

“It was just Gerard, huh?” Ray teased and, much to Frank’s amusement, Mikey went pink.

“Yes, _just_ Gerard,” Mikey hissed at him.

“I missed you, too, Mikeyway.” Frank admitted, “A lot. You guys can’t ever leave me behind again.”

“It sucked,” Mikey admitted back, “They started doing that thing where they ignore each other to,” he air-quoted, “ _protect_ me, and Gerard got hit in the face and Ray almost lost his foot to a mountain lion.”

“A mountain lion?” Frank blinked, “What?”

“I’ll show you a picture,” Mikey promised and they did their secret handshake to seal the deal. Gerard joined them then, with a plate of _real_ toast, much to Frank’s pleasure. They ate together for the first time in awhile, even before they’d been separated, making small talk and teasing each other’s stories out until Frank had gotten the gist of their little mountain adventure and they had gotten the story of Pencey Prep 2.0 and the end of Leathermouth, due to be dropped off at Dr. D’s later that day, out of him. Then they just set together in a comfortable silence, basking in the fact that, for once, no one Frank cared about had died because of him and Australia had been, once again, saved.

It wasn’t until later that everything went to hell in a Dr. D shaped handbasket.

Uncommon though it was that Dr. D made trips outside of his shack, when he did, he did it in style. His van pulled up with a squeal and a loud, “Rise and Shiiiiiine, rock-and-rollers, Dr. Death Defying here, calling in a favor with his favorite Frankenstein!” from the foghorn atop the WKIL-painted van. Where he hid all of these vehicles, Ghoul could only guess.

“Dr. D?” Poison blinked, poking his head out of the front door, “We literally just got back from a very extensive mission late yesterday. Can we have a few days off before you throw us back into the fire?”

“Evil never rests, my Red Liners, but evil is not what you’ll be chasing for me, today. Fun Ghoul owes me a pretty big favor and I’m cashin' in, or crashin' in, you could say! I let you have the night to yourself because that kinda thing ain’t no place for what I got in mind but now that you’ve all had your reunion, it’s time to step up.”

Ghoul hesitated because Dr. D was making it sound like he’d be giving up a kidney for this favor, but his word was his word so he stepped out and nodded, “Lay it on me, radioman. What’ll I be doing for you today?”

“What’ll you be doing for me for _the next few months_.” Dr. D corrected, “With the motorbaby caravan under renovations and the Carburetor Ports shut off for awhile, I’ve got a small problem. Girl, come here.”

A familiar head of hair popped out of the van and Show Pony helped a little girl fall from the tall van and skip over to Dr. D. Through the dread slowly pooling in his stomach, Ghoul recognized her.

“You’re that girl. From the relief camp a while ago.”

“Killjoys, meet Grace, codenamed The Girl. Girl, meet the Killjoys.”

“Hey, rock-and-rollers!” She chirped and waved cheerfully at them. Ghoul waved back dumbly, too afraid to look behind him and see what kind of looks his crew were giving him. He swore he could feel Kobra’s icy stare drilling into his head deeper and deeper every second.

“Hi, Girl.” Ghoul said weakly when Dr. D gave him a look.

“Girl here is my daughter.” He said with no small amount of pride. She threw up the peace sign and pointed at the ‘Dr. D’ sticker on her headband with the other hand.

And really, it would have been more shocking, had he not seen them together those months and months ago. Now, he was a little too worried about what his crew was going to do to him for getting them involved in this when Dr. D left, to be surprised.

“Girl is also your next mission. Until the ships are back online and I can get her safely to Australia, she’s your responsibility. What safer place for my kid then at my best men’s side, right?”

“Right.” Ghoul said pathetically. Right.

“Ghoul?” Kobra said sweetly, “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Love to, Kobra,” Ghoul said just as sweetly, wheeling around on his heels, “But, uh, I got a kid to watch out for. Those suckers are wily. Maybe later on.”

“Oh, I can wait as long as I need.” Kobra agreed, “She sleeps, right?”

“Like a babe.” Dr. D agreed, “Girl, you’re gonna stay with my friends for awhile. You cool for school?”

“I’m down with that, daddio.” She held out her hand and he slapped it and they giggled together and Ghoul literally saw the moment Poison fell in love with her - the blank confusion, the vague horror, the slow consideration, the carefully placed fondness, the undeniable endearment, the inalterable affection and, finally, the unavoidable love of a soft hearted caregiver with empty nest syndrome and a cute kid.

“Shit.” Ghoul said just as Poison smiled wide and said, “We’d _love_ to have you stay with us for awhile, Girl. I’m Party Poison, this is my brother Kobra Kid, my best friend Jet Star and my….uh, special friend, Fun Ghoul.”

“Does special friend mean you guys-” She started but Dr. D covered her mouth and laughed loudly.

“She sure is something!” He said cheerfully.

“Well, I’m off!” He said just as cheerfully. “I’ll be back tomorrow to make sure she’s settled in. You ready for me to head off, Girl?”

“Sure thing, my man.” She nodded, “See you, tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” He promised. They slapped hands one last time and he was back in the van and speeding off, heavy metal screaming from the foghorn, steadily fading as the van drove farther away.

“Come on, Girl,” Poison offered a hand and she took it, “I’ll show you around. Kobra’s kind of a jerk, but he’s secretly a big softie, and Jet Star has an afro like you do! And this one is real serious so listen close, when Ghoul gets all stony and quiet, you gotta leave him alone, but otherwise you can play with him all the time! This is gonna be awesome!”

“Shit.” Ghoul said again, watching Poison lead the little girl into the diner.

“Shit,” Kobra agreed, cracking his knuckles.

“She has hair like me!” Jet Star said excitedly, “This is gonna be awesome!”

He followed Poison and The Girl inside.

“Now, Kobra, there’s a kid in the house, we can’t do this.” Ghoul said carefully.

“I’m gonna fucking gut you like a piece of meat.” Kobra said pleasantly.

“Is that my name?” Ghoul said loudly, “Coming Poison!”

He raced inside before Mikey could make a grab for him but he couldn’t help the small grin at Mikey’s angry “God _damn it_ , Frank!” or at the smile Gerard sent him over his shoulder when The Girl was busy tugging at Ray’s hair.

 _Shit,_ what had he gotten them into?

**Author's Note:**

> The next one will be up either early next month or the month after, depending on how challenging my BBB turns out to be!  
> P.s: The Ramones are:  
> Joey Ramone - Chain Saw  
> Johnny Ramone - Loudmouth  
> Dee Dee Ramone - Havana Affair  
> Tommy Ramone - Animal Hop  
> Linda Ramone - Sensation Away 
> 
> NEXT: They’ll Chain Our Hands and Close The Door (There’s Nothing Worse Than Wanting More)  
> STATUS: Posted


End file.
